Blue_Opossum

Morning of August 16, 2015. Sunday.



Rewritten for clarification and supplemented Friday, 25 August 2017.

In the first part of my dream, I read at least halfway through a paperback crime novel (possibly by Erle Stanley Gardner, though this is not certain). I retain much of what I read for a few minutes after each page, enough to get a general idea of what the story is about, but I eventually forget most of it. It concerns a jewel thief who escapes by traveling by jumbo jet to another country while meeting a female on the airplane. He becomes interested in her and sees her again later on. She is a secretary that eventually goes to work for him.

My reading of the paperback crime novel expands into an amateur play aboard the airplane. I find at least two people (unknown and unfamiliar) who I decide to act out the story with as our airplane takes off and flies to wherever we are going.

One of these other passengers, who mostly stands to my left as I am seated on the right side of the airplane about the fourth seat back, is a young female who becomes wary about doing this as if perhaps she thinks that movies or plays made from novels are filmed or performed exactly as they are. For example, if an actor plays someone who is killed, the actor will actually be killed at that point. This seems to be an extraordinarily ignorant belief, yet in my dream, it seems typical of ordinary people to hold such beliefs. She eventually comments on the persona of the jewel thief in the story and decides to free herself of this little fictional drama and return to her own seat, no longer being interested. I am somewhat annoyed that the play was not completed, but my thoughts shift to other things.

There is an idea that I need to make a beanie. The beanie will have a blue and white mandala design spreading over the center from the top down somewhat like a simplified spiderweb design. Another (unknown) female complains about me wanting to create the beanie (which I plan on finishing on the airplane before we land) from scratch and asks me why I do not just buy one. (In some ways, this is like saying to someone who wants to learn to play guitar to go out and buy a music CD or someone who wants to build a house to just look at pictures of houses.) At any rate, I explain to her how the design and creation has to be mine (similar to a real life event when I made a headband, as it had to be a design taken directly from my dream). I start working on my beanie, but I do not complete it before I wake.

Meanwhile, I am given an on-flight meal which ends up leaving a horrid sweet taste in my mouth after waking. It is some sort of serving-tray-sized clump of thicker reddish jelly or conserves that is not fresh and is shaped somewhat like a land form relating to the Colorado Plateau. I do not want to eat it, but there is nothing else to eat so I eat most of it. I wake before the airplane lands.

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Time to explain the meaning of this dream, yes? I am certainly not talking about “interpretation” but about inherent meaning and why this dream is as it is.

Firstly, I am on an airplane. This usually has nothing to do with waking life (unless prescient or based on literal dynamics from recent experiences) but is an obvious dream state indicator. This is primarily based on the floating sensation of entering sleep and the residual memory of such. (How difficult could it be for a person of average intelligence to immediately realize this?) Over twenty percent of my dreams have more obvious flight symbols. This includes tens of thousands of dreams over a fifty-year time period. As a result, can you imagine what I think when I read about “dream interpretation” as the term is often used? (To be honest, I do not think you could.)

Then there is the paperback crime novel. Since being unconscious in the dream state is a “puzzling” state of awareness, the rendering becomes actualized in this case as a mystery novel and is even expanded into my dream’s environment as such (and how often would such an event occur in real life even symbolically?).

Why am I making a beanie in this particular dream? I am trying to implement a connection to my outer (conscious self’s) awareness in real time (and completeness in consciousness regarding what a mandala represents). There is non-lucid dream control. A part of me knows I am dreaming (as is most often the case) yet the lucidity is not viable or held within my dream self’s inherently fictional memory. Making this cap is similar to other dreams involving my dream self attempting to initiate waking (and this is also why there is no dominant preconscious personification or other preconscious factor). The unknown female complaining about me wanting to make the beanie is possibly a distorted perception of me believing (or actually perceiving within the same level of consciousness as her as we are sleeping) that my wife does not yet want to wake. This is certainly not meant to sound negative. No one else could even come close to her beauty or compatibility with me.

The weird dessert at the end of my dream likely relates to a few factors. (Red desserts have appeared in other dreams since childhood.) It may relate to having low blood sugar after a long sleep. It may be a rendering of the subliminal awareness of an odd taste in my mouth. Red dominating a dream typically means I have been sleeping a bit too long (or sleeping too long in one position). The association with a Colorado plateau may also indicate partial dehydration (and the need to rehydrate after waking, which is very important).

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See how this dream is based on the real-time dynamics of sleeping, dreaming, and waking rather than having feasible conscious self relevance as main factors in this case? A person of reasonable intelligence should be able to grasp this with no difficulty. Even so, most of my dreams have threads of literal prescience, which could not be discerned by “interpretation” either. Thank you for reading and understanding.

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Morning of August 15, 2015. Saturday.



My dream’s location seems like the house on Loomis Street regarding the area I sense I am in, though everything is different otherwise and it is not even much like a house; more like a partly underground setting in a zoo, at least in one area, though I seem to be living here. The entire back and north side of the “house” is open, though high walls are at least two sides at the northwest corner. The front is enclosed and there is a row of jalousie windows. (There were no jalousie windows in the Loomis Street house or in any of the houses in La Crosse I had been in).

I become aware that a large tiger is in the front yard. At first, I decide to close the windows due to a slight concern about the tiger smelling me. I do not think it can get in but it might surprise me if I have my head close to the window at a later point. Over time, I realize that there is also a lion in the backyard, though the wall may be high enough so that he does not get into the enclosure I am in.

Later, I realize that these two large animals are supposed to be in the area and that they are like guard dogs in a way. Each has his own space to guard and survey and to stop intruders from getting into “my” house. Somehow, the tiger eventually gets in to where I am. I am not sure how that happened since there is no direct way in via the front. It certainly could not have gotten through the narrow jalousie window’s glass slats at any point. No door had been open, and I do not think it came over the walls in the back and north side. Still, I realize that there is nothing to be worried about. The tiger will not eat me or attack and is simply looking around. I watch it for a time and eventually pet it like a cat. It seems content.

Eventually, I am aware that the lion in the backyard can get in to where I am. This only concerns me in a way that I know it will probably fight with the tiger. I can see the tiger sniffing the air and I look back and see the lion on the top of the wall. I ask a couple unfamiliar people who are there to keep the lion from getting in. However, it eventually goes around to the north wall and I sense there may be a fight, though this does not happen. The lion stands on the wall while observing the tiger and they both continue to sniff the air, but I wake before anything happens. The lion could easily jump down into the structure that the tiger and I are in. I believe the lion will not attack me, but I do not want to see the animals attack each other. My dream fades with a soft awakening (that is, no discernible physical RAS effect such as a leg kick or abdominal twitch).

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The reticular activating system (RAS) is curiously sustained and duplicated here due to an atypically vivid subliminally lucid sequence. Tigers and lions are RAS factors just as snakes (in certain vivid non-lucid dreams) and dogs (in certain apex lucidity dreams mainly only in childhood) are and serve the same purpose with the same basic meaning (though I associate a lion more with waking coalescence as it can swallow the dream self into the “lion as emergent consciousness” as with 1897’s “The Sleeping Gypsy” painting). RAS also serves, biologically, as a “guardian” while mediating sleep-wake transitions, which was in the back of my mind in my dream and the understanding of which altered my dream’s mood and dynamics, for example, why my non-lucid dream self was not afraid of the big cats. Obviously, RAS is a normal part of the mind and nothing to fear (except perhaps in people who tend to faint a lot). Learning about RAS at a very early age is partly how my mind developed differently than many my age and why I rarely have nightmares (other than as health warnings, for example, at the threshold of getting the flu).

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Morning of August 15, 2015. Saturday.



Once again, I seem to be a teenager. (Note: I first absentmindedly wrote “teenanger” in my notes instead of “teenager”).

In my dream, I am once again in Cubitis, though there is not much furniture in my room. I am much as I am now (mentally and emotionally), including having a computer desk (along the southeast corner and facing south in this case). I do not question this perhaps because I did experiments with electronics in the 1970s (building mostly useless novelties and haphazard hybrid decks) thanks to my father buying lots of junk at flea markets, including cassette players, speakers, amplifiers, and old radios on a weekly basis.

I am not sure of the time (it could be either morning or evening, though I am often aware of the general time in the majority of my dreams). I eventually notice the sheer curtains to my right over the west wall (mostly made up of large jalousie windows) billowing out for a few minutes. Eventually, in my mind is the idea that my (deceased) older sister Marilyn will appear as a spirit. Something seems to “move” in my mind and she appears as she did in perhaps 1978, but remains behind the nearly transparent curtains for a time as if the movement of the curtains in the slight breeze had something to do with forming her or her essence. It is very vivid. She comes out from behind the curtains and I talk with her for a short time and even touch her shoulder and she seems happy. (“Curtains” is a possible reference to having died in this case.)

Eventually, she walks out of my room into the living room. From here, though, the setting seems to be the southeast area of the living room on Loomis Street. My brother-in-law (her husband) is sitting on the right side of their couch near the window. An unknown female in her late forties is standing near him (who may be a nurse or friend) to his right (though she is facing west to my implied room in Cubitis and he is facing north towards the room I stayed in when first moving there from Florida).

My sister turns to the left and walks away, seemingly towards a fictional hallway. Another version of my sister is, at this point, talking to her husband. She looks mostly the same as the other supposed spirit.

I get an impression that the spirits of deceased people somehow divide into different versions of themselves to visit or comfort particular individuals at or around the same time. This seems “wrong” somehow, but I cannot quite resolve it. My dream eventually fades as I watch my “other” sister standing and talking with her husband.

This is certainly not the first time I have dreamt of more than one copy of the same person. It happens regarding my wife Zsuzsanna, and she sometimes dreams of more than one of me as well. I also once had a dream of two different versions of my father (May 1975) when he was still alive. Pets sometimes duplicate as well. This dream seems to be different, though, as I am far more aware of the implications than usual. It possibly translates to how people project themselves differently to different people. Note that I have five half-sisters total (and six half-brothers), but grew up mostly on my own, as they were all older.

Morning of August 14, 2015. Friday.



My dream starts in an unknown building which seems to be a two-storey halfway house for both troubled and homeless youths and adult recovering alcoholics. Richard B (have not seen him in over twenty years) is leaning out a window on the second floor and hammering nails into the outside of that window frame for weatherization and is being filmed for some sort of instructional video. (I am not sure why he is doing it from the inside rather than having a ladder set up on the outside; it would be more feasible, and in fact, to complete the job would be impossible from the inside.) I clean up a room fairly quickly and there is also some painting of at least one room going on.

At one point, I am lying on a mattress in a large room. I get the impression that my mother (deceased) has kept me awake all night from moving potted plants around and doing other things (such as preparing business letters), which is problematic, as I am too tired to get up and go to some sort of school event or other scheduled meeting (though I am aware it is near the last day of school). However, I am also aware that my going to this event is not necessary or I may be wrong with what I am thinking as I may not have to go after all.

Later, I seem to be about twenty years old or younger and am in a room where the house mother (a male that seems to be my foreman from my old Ford Taurus manufacturing job) is writing on a chalkboard. (A “house mother” is typically a strong stocky male that oversees a halfway house.) He has written on the chalkboard (in cursive handwriting) a message concerning about seven or eight new tenants. I read the writing and note that it starts with “Let us all welcome the new tenants, two of whom are from the Karaoke and Lansing tribes” and this is followed by about seven or eight surnames including mine being about the fourth one. I do not sharpen my focus to read all of it, so it is probably not relevant to remote viewing (although the term “Karaoke tribe” actually does exist, oddly enough - which is apparently a group of people who go around singing in various venues and based in La Mirada, California, which I had not known of previously).

Later, I am in the same room, but only one other tenant is present other than the house mother. I say fairly loudly and clearly, “I am going to test if this is a dream.” The two others do not seem to mind. I focus and, while standing, lift both my knees up and hover in the air, rising to the ceiling in eventually a standing position. “Well, it looks like this is a dream,” I say casually, and the two others nod, smile, and agree.

From here, we all fly out from the building through a window on the second floor. However, I fly too close to the building and bang the right side of my head on the eaves. It does not hurt that much, but I feel a strange vibration, like my head is a bell and has just been rung. I note that the others have flown off elsewhere.

When I fly around, I am astounded by the beauty and clear detail of the fictional setting. I then start to think, well, it is time for an outdoor romantic interlude. I fly down near an area where I notice a younger version of my wife in a turquoise bikini, though there are two young males around that may be her younger brothers, though they do not seem familiar otherwise (in other words, not resembling any of her real brothers). An older chubby lady keeps coming out of the house and going back in (and Zsuzsanna does a couple times as well). I am not sure why my wife is seemingly living here at the time. The lady reminds me of a young version of Clara Peller (from the “where’s the beef?” commercials). Eventually, I take my wife behind a shoulder-high hedge that runs parallel to the house’s property line on the right side of it, but annoyingly, the other three people keep coming out and randomly walking around the hedge. I try to shoo them away, but eventually give up and just do what I had intended. Briefly, my wife seems to transform into a part of the hedge and back again which seems a bit strange, but I do not focus on it, and I fly off again shortly after fulfillment (which is quite visual).

From here, I explore another building with amazing clear details, seemingly on the second floor again. I walk by a room that has a low table (about knee-high) that has an image with a teddy bear on it (and there are many other clear details). It looks painted or like a very large decal. The image is quite complex and I am almost certain in afterthought that it is the print of a postage stamp (though I could not find any image close to it anywhere). The teddy bear is in a sailor suit (blue with thinner white stripes) and there is a lot of blue and beige in the image including a beige border. It is sitting near other toys, including a pull-toy of a duck. Exploring other rooms, the visual clarity is almost overwhelming. (My wife reminded me of a cross-stitch design she did similar to the image that was on the table.)

After all of this vivid imagery and flying around and sensual movement and sharpening my focus at least four times throughout my longer dream (with a strange concern about my in-dream breathing at one point, where I have to stop and catch my breath a couple times), I decide to let it go, as my head is starting to feel a bit in “overdrive” and I wake immediately.

Morning of August 13, 2015. Thursday.



In my semi-lucidity, seemingly very late at night, I am aware that my dream environment is only half-rendered. Thus, without focusing that much, or sharpening my awareness with any intent, I do not really feel like getting up and walking into another part of the house, as I will probably just trip and fly forward and become half-awake, as in typical first-stage light sleep paralysis dreams from night to night. Still, for whatever reason, it does not dawn on me that this dream type does not usually render my present home in any discernible way and is usually an area in a city, outside, where I most often find myself walking down the sidewalk. So, already my critical thinking skills are not functioning.

Not knowing what else to do (again, not being that focused), I continue to work on my computer. Still, I am somewhat suspicious of the technology being feasible in any dream state (where electronic devices sometimes explode into small smoking embers with amazing “realism”). In the back of my mind, I am somewhat aware that this “other world” has Gothic attributes. I feel a slight wariness. I am aware of a presence that is very different to me, like a feature of another world becoming known for the first time. It is very eerie, yet I also somehow sense love and joy at the same time; perhaps some orphan domain of Steampunk consciousness blended with something else.

A strange sound occurs, increasing smoothly in volume. It is every chimney in the (fictional) neighborhood suddenly “singing” in some sort of low-pitched hollow reed-like frequency, somewhat like a sustained pipe-organ note, but layered (overdubbed) to an extreme. Is it wind somehow speedily and heavily flowing through every chimney in the region? It is almost like a ghostly human chorus. Again, the pitch is very low, but some of the layers are slightly off the pitch by enough cent variation to give it a barely noticeable flange effect. The volume of this chimney “chorus” increases until it is “filling the world” with some sort of intended beginning vigil, perhaps. I am not sure how to mentally respond or take note, assuming I should. It almost reminds me of a factory steam whistle slowed down exponentially and layered infinitely. I remain puzzled; I get the ambiguous association of rows of churches with factory steam whistles calling the public masses into uniformity. Then there is silence.

Morning of August 11, 2015. Tuesday.



James Miller comes to my attention; weary and barely there and dressed as Will Robinson, he seems to want to ask me something. Perhaps about ten feet away or more in a half-rendered version of my computer room (though seemingly mirrored longways right to left), he mainly appears as he did in perhaps 1975 (rather than 1977). I feel that he wants to ask me the time. However, pitifully, he cannot even communicate or relate coherently, which I suspect is frustrating him. Instead of asking “Time?” it comes out (quite weakly) something like “Sah-hime?” I suspect that anything he ever manages to say will only sound a little like English, though mostly gibberish.

Manny C comes in as the robot from “Lost in Space” (though somewhat different in design). She is thinner, though; the upper and lower sections of her robot body slowly pumping up and down (synchronized to her forward movement), arms randomly moving about, though head perfectly rotating ninety degrees to left and right.

She pulls James out of the half-rendered setting, back into the red-toned darkness.

Like a robot vacuum cleaner. I suppose.

Morning of August 10, 2015. Monday.



There really is not that much to this one. For some reason, planet Earth seems a lot smaller and almost like a spaceship. There is some sort of event that may destroy the “world” and only about thirty people are able to escape in their own family escape pod, each of which holds a few people in a family (though with a larger family such as mine, there are two, which are connected and maintain the same orbit).

Finally, the last pieces of the planet (only a few, as the planet seemed quite small to begin with) are floating about in the center of a circle of escape pods. There are probably only about a dozen.

Regardless of the “end of the world” scenario, there seems to be no real concern about endangerment. We may be in our pods for a considerable time, though will still find new life on another planet. The feeling of being in outer space in such a structure seems quite real. Oddly, there seems no concern about food supplies or needed utilities. In the back of my mind, I am thinking, as always, it will turn out as how it should.

Morning of August 9, 2015. Sunday.



This dream was definitely a form of remote viewing (likely metaphorical or skewed in some other way) since I recognized the perspective and layer of consciousness quite clearly. Although precognitive dreams have quite discernible layers as such (which was one of the reasons I started dream work from age six in the first place), they are often muddled composites (for example, of movies not yet seen or books not yet read combined with personal real life events). However, it did not resolve yet as such. About a year ago, a similar event relating to a website was exact (literal) and another type of “unexplainable” event happens continuously related to similar dream content, which I sometimes tag with “dream journal synchronicity”. Although precognition and remote viewing seem related to synchronicity at some levels, I am still not sure of the mechanisms involved even after experiencing it continuously for nearly fifty years (not just from day to day, but from hour to hour, though particularly more intense in the period from September 1990 to January 1994 in the path to my marriage).

At any rate, once again I dream of a website, in this case, some sort of muddled combination of two websites, it seems, or it could be the one website with a filtered perspective (such as the two versions of the remote-viewed Nancy comic strip I had no way of knowing about seen together as one composite at one point). As remote viewing dreams do not follow the same “rules” as other dreams (in that you can clearly read what you see - and it never changes or distorts - unlike other dream types), I can surmise the meaning on another level, I suppose.

I go to the webpage and in the upper left panel (below the titles and such), is a message in plain text. I have the understanding that the website has been bought or is now under the administration of another group of people. I sense that this other group of people who now run the website do not understand English very well. They have apparently changed the usernames of all the members of the site (including those who have not posted in a long time) for whatever reason.

The text on the screen says (after some generic information about the website changes) “Your new username is Immaterial”. I find that somewhat irritating as this means that none of the posters will know each other at first if everyone has different usernames (though there is no focus on what other usernames might have been changed to).

This could mean several different things. "Immaterial” can mean “unimportant under the circumstances; irrelevant”. However, it could also mean “spiritual, rather than physical”. I can say that my name is already spiritual (even though an opossum is an actual animal). The “blue” is the blue Merkaba and the opossum is my totem (though which I first thought was a fox at around age four as I only saw the eyes in the trees) and the representation as a heart (that is, heart-shaped head). The opossum was also one of thousands of validations in that my dream girl was to have a pet opossum, and of course she did at our first contact (though it was an Australian opossum).

Morning of August 8, 2015. Saturday.



In my dream, there is a sense of love and joy even though there seems to be a possibility of a storm approaching from the north. My family and I seem to be living on Stadcor Street in Brisbane again. The layout of the house is different and there almost seems to be a loft in the corner near the front door where I am recording, I believe, a half-hour video that relates to some sort of educational session, though I do not fully recall the content. I am only talking smoothly throughout the video. The precision of what I am saying seems to have flowed smoothly thus far for the most part. However, just within the last five minutes of the otherwise perfect video, my (deceased) mother turns on the television in one of the rooms (she has never been to Australia in real life) and the sound is loud enough to be picked up on the video.

I am somewhat annoyed and illogically believe that I will have to start over from the very beginning (instead of implementing an undetectable edit). I do not show any anger, though. However, for some reason, I now seem to have the need for additional equipment and documents to do what I had just already almost completed.

From here, I go to the back door as a heavy rain has just started. There is also a fresh strong wind bringing the rain from the north. When I go out to the backyard briefly, I see a gray area and implied heavy rain over Halcyon Street, yet still do not panic.

I go back inside and notice that, in my computer room, heavy streams of rain are actually now coming through the boards of the ceiling. My first thought is that the equipment I need will probably be too wet to use for awhile, thus my video will be delayed. I am then concerned about all my documents including my dream journals. This is the only room that is leaking thus far. I almost feel a sense of cheerful amusement even though I am not sure if this indicates an apocalyptic event. I am not quite sure if I am dreaming or not. Obviously, closing the windows will not matter at all, as most of the water is coming in through the ceiling. My dream is most vivid at this point, though I start to wake from here. I have had similar dreams (concerning water coming from the ceiling) since I was very young.

Morning of August 7, 2015. Friday.



A child is at a door and cannot quite reach the doorknob (which is atypically high). I only see her silhouette.

“Here, let me get that for you…” She is gone. I hear the sound of the beanbag chair breaking. It is, as always, remote viewing.

I hate to interrupt an artist. Carroll (who looks eerily like my brother-in-law but only from some angles and only at certain times) acknowledges my presence with a respectful nod.

“What do you see?” He asks.

I find myself in a continuously changing three-dimensional landscape that is like a “real” version of “Zoo Scene”. I see what looks like giant butterflies fly about in and out of the structure. I enjoy the imagery for several minutes.

It becomes the real version. I see something that, once I see it, I cannot “unsee” it.

It is a “shark fin” within the structure that is in reality, the road going away from behind the structure. “A predator…” Carroll acknowledges me respectfully and nods.

“You are not to blame for every disadvantaged soul…or for any life ever taken,” he says.

I would tend to agree. Love and respect. In every place. In every time.

Morning of August 7, 2015. Friday.



This was an atypical extraordinary dream that was quite long and exhausting. I can only relate some scenes as much of it was abstract.

In one part of my dream, my wife Zsuzsanna (though at a much younger age before we met) seemed to be oddly played by the role of a white female; actress Mary Beth McDonough. After a time, she is more like a composite. As most people have learned over time from my extensive online journal, it is ludicrous that anyone other than the dreamer could associate or “interpret” anything in his or her dream. The idea is so preposterous (not to mention disturbing) that I could fill an entire book with how wrong this concept is. In fact, this tiny little facet of just one dream proves that.

No one but me could possibly relate why this dream facet manifested. It is because of one minor association between my wife and Mary Beth McDonough that only I could know, that being the deer symbol. This is because both my wife and her had photographs taken of feeding and petting a deer around the same age, and that is obviously the first thing that comes to mind for me.

No one but me could decode the next scene, either. Over time, I am concerned about this character’s safety. Her “parents” (though they seem completely unfamiliar) talk to me about her future and for a time, it almost seems as if I am the father. The male is dressed as in the painting “My Father Was Big As A Tree” from 1955 and does not remove his hat.

Something happens to where her fake father seems to be causing her trouble or preventing her spiritual growth by preaching some form of skewed Christianity. She sits on the couch with her arms folded much of the time. I begin to develop a special discernment that I cannot call lucidity, because I am not lucid. I tell the male that it is impossible for him to alter the destiny of a master since the patterns exist in the world itself. I become angry.

In this way as if noticing me as who I am for the first time (related to any faux back story), he seems to see me in a different light as I feel, for whatever reason, that I need to protect the actress (who is looking more like my wife-to-be). I feel an exhausting level of energy and blow out towards him as he shouts “Manny! Manny!” to his wife, and he transforms into a butterfly under my will as he escapes through the front open doorway of the unfamiliar residence. I expect him to not make it across the front yard.

“That girl was ta…” (thunder). Police cars take my schoolmate away. I want to live in the sky, away from humanity and those who so effortlessly prey on the innocent without remorse..and all the while playing the victim. I saw the signs and no one ever listened. No one ever does.

From here, I reach down and feel my left leg and notice it has transformed into a deer’s leg and I can clearly feel the foot. It seems very intriguing and vivid and I brush over the fur on my left leg. My wife is herself again and I am once again thankful that no other path would ever have given me life.

I then see myself in a painting where I am separated from humanity by a gulf that will always be reflected in “Alien Child” (as the original artist apparently saw himself). The painting “Alien Child” burns and so does “Hostile Butterflies”.

Only I know…

Morning of August 7, 2015. Friday.



I will try to refrain from another titular trend (such as “or not” in this case).

In my dream, I am once again on Loomis Street at my sister (deceased) Marilyn’s house. It seems to be early afternoon. My wife Zsuzsanna is with me at the house.

An unknown person (a young female in a jogging outfit, jogging southward) comes by our house and leaves a huge computer motherboard on our front sidewalk for some reason (just giving it to us, or perhaps thinking of our front yard as a dumping ground - this is not certain). The motherboard is about eight times the size of a real one. I am not sure what to do with it as it is older technology and I would likely have no use for it.

As I am wondering what to do with this junk, as it remains lying across our front sidewalk, along comes an (unknown and unfamiliar) older male that takes notice to it. A few other (unknown) people also crowd around for a short time. He asks me if he can look at it and I say yes (though I had not even looked at it). On one corner (upper left from my view), he takes notice to a particular chip which is apparently a bit newer than the motherboard itself. He asks me if he can buy it (the one single chip) for twenty dollars. This sounds very good to me and I feel quite cheerful upon hearing this. As I did not pay any money and someone else had just dropped it off for whatever reason, twenty dollars sounds good even if I give him the entire board, which I am thinking of telling him.

As the motherboard is lowered to the ground I notice at least six jars of peanut butter attached to it in a line over the top, each about two jar spaces apart, which seem to serve as some sort of conduit (or perhaps even additional power source). After several minutes pass, the male stands with his chin in hand gazing at the motherboard. He eventually looks at the chip again and tells me that the serial number on it is one day off from the chip he was looking for. This makes no sense to me as it is not relevant to specific timing of movement (such as with two cassette decks that are most usable when the model is identical, as the capstan is the same speed, or otherwise the variation would be too extreme for dubbing or oversampling).

He looks at me and seriously states “I’m not paying twenty dollars for that!” as if I was the one that told him that he should give me the money for it. I then tell him that he can just take what he wants, including the whole motherboard itself. I come to the conclusion that he is just “off his rocker” and do not say anything after this. The scene vaguely reminds me of one years ago when a very drunken male bought one of my father’s old tools (and I could tell he had no idea what it was, which was a very specialized large drill extension and I even asked him if he was sure he had use for it) and he dropped it on his foot and blamed me for dropping it. I am surprised he even managed to walk from the area. (My father had made a lot of sidewalk sections in addition to building public utilities and residential work in both La Crosse and Arcadia during the same period he was on the radio and local venues.)

This dream was precognitive (in some ways) of a message I received from a former member of one dream journal site, but I will not get into the specifics at this time. I can say that peanut butter often represents human waste in certain types of dream scenarios. The jars of peanut butter on the motherboard are a reference to what was said in a message about grooming and trolling on the Internet.

Night of August 7, 2015. Friday.



Oh no, not this “or not” again. (Someone slap me.)

Well, here is another little “weird” one. I do not have a Tower of Hanoi puzzle in real life (at least on hand) unless the baby-toy variation is relevant (my first guess being “no”). This is just a brief and skewed “anniversary” dream, I think, of playing around with a version of the Tower of Hanoi (and there are apparently several variations). Though it has shades of postcognition, I am more-so inclined to believe I might have seen the newspaper very recently due to the extensive level of research I have been doing of late.

One of the newspaper headlines I would have seen (while living on Rose Street) on August 7, 1965 reads “REDS ASK HANOI AID”. What this has to do with my dream, I remain clueless. Because the word “aid” appears, I assume it may be a play on help in solving the Hanoi Tower (which I have not really messed around with in years, the last time being a computer game version of it). Of course, maybe it is something that looks like the Hanoi Tower, and, specific to the date (August 7) perhaps metaphorically relating to three people who are passing something of a puzzling nature between the three of them.

No clue otherwise.

Morning of August 6, 2015. Thursday.



I am with an unknown male though also sense Zsuzsanna is around at one point. I am going with him to an unknown location, though I think it has something to do with recovering certain information on the other side of the river (possibly in a different town). We are both riding bicycles and it vaguely reminds me of riding with Kenneth W or James M at a distance (out of town or on the other side of town) that eventually seems too far, though my bicycle is functioning normally. There was another schoolmate that used to go with me most of the way home (only for a month or two), though oddly, I do not recall his name (one of the only names I had forgotten in my lifetime, in fact) and this may be the character I am thinking of. It seems fairly late at night and I can just barely make out land features.

We reach a bridge over water and cross it about halfway and I soon see it is slightly inclined to where it goes down into the water, submerged from there. This surprises me, as I thought the other male knew where he was going, though now it seems he is gone (or perhaps somehow already got to the other side). I am trying to remember if he did get to the other side (with a brief impression that he was in the water for a short time). I am not sure what to do. I am not sure if I should ride my bicycle over the surface of the water, ride in while half-submerged (with the bicycle wheels half-submerged as I cross the river) or just keep going and see what happens (though I do not really want to ride completely underwater). My dilemma causes my dream to slowly fade. I have had numerous similar dreams of partly submerged bridges and docks throughout my life since childhood. I suspect it directly relates to the waking process or state of consciousness itself as many other in-dream predicaments do (for example, a car crash may solely metaphorically represent the waking process and the termination of the temporary dream-self).

I might as well include another non-lucid dream with this entry since there is not that much to it. Caution: Violence at end. Skip to avoid.

I am shopping in a store I buy food at in real life, though it is quite different. I am looking in a very large freezer (much deeper than in reality - and it seemingly has no shelves) where there are mostly meat pie packages and a few other frozen items. I hold the glass door open for awhile and am somewhat annoyed as there is not that much food in normal packaging in the entire freezer (which is nearly the entire length of the aisle). What little items there are, are sitting on large cardboard boxes (I assume they are unopened stock) and there are also a few smaller boxes on top (a couple being open) and I contemplate getting out whatever I need as I thus far only have one meat pie package (probably containing about four to six meat pies). There are only a few loose items strewn about the top of the stack that I want to look at or perhaps buy.

I then see that there are three people on the other side of the boxes who are standing within the larger freezer area itself, the boxes of which are at least three rows deep and stacked to above the waist. There are two females and a male and at least two of them have clipboards and appear to be taking some sort of inventory. They are a bit to the left. I reach over to the right and move a couple smaller lighter boxes to get to another product, which may be the only one left.

“Why don’t you go somewhere else instead of f–king around here?” asks the male (who may be the store’s manager), sounding very annoyed. This surprises me because I am a customer in a grocery store just trying to reach a product. I inform the man that I am leaving (and I do) and that I will make sure none of my friends or family ever shop there again. (In real life, I no longer shop in the grocery store that absurdly promotes self-service through the cramped and problematic small self-service section with a trolley-full of groceries while the cashiers just stand around gawking as all the normal checkouts are blocked off.)

From here, I walk home (rather than continuing to do any shopping elsewhere), though the location and building is not that familiar, yet I know I live there with my family. It vaguely reminds me of some sort of unlikely composite of Duffy Street (Australia) and Arcadia’s North Monroe (where I have not lived since early 1968). There are many young people running around randomly in the front yard, perhaps involved in some sort of game (like informal soccer) or party, though there does not seem to be any order to any of it and some of them seem to be wearing very strange and random outfits. It may be some sort of high school or college event, such as a semester break (though I do not know why they picked this area as they obviously do not all live in the area).

As I decide to go around and enter my home through the back of the building to avoid collision or confrontation with what may be a chaotic group of addled college or high school students, a (unfamiliar and unknown) girl who seems friendly joins me. We walk to an area near the back of my apartment building (which at this point looks a bit like the apartment building across the yard from where I lived at North Monroe). The back of my building has a door to enter the premises (at about the middle of the walkway from where we are), though directly to my right seems to be another tall building so that it is like looking into a narrow alleyway. There are several boulders and large rocks within the alleyway which are blocking my way to the door (though realistically, it would be ridiculous to assume someone or even several people put them there by hand). “Who did this? How are people supposed to get into their apartment?” I ask the girl (who is standing to my left) angrily. The girl leads me to the other side of the building where the rocks are now mysteriously gone just from looking through the opposite side of the alleyway.

From here, we get to the back entrance where there is a screen door. A tall young unfamiliar male (though he seems almost thirty when I look again even though I first get the impression he might be a college football player) comes out asking “How are you doing, dad?” as if with mindless sarcasm related to my age (and I am at my own home after all and I assume he is not supposed to be there). At this point, I am annoyed, as I reach semi-lucidity and the waking stage at the same time. In previous dreams I used to shoot every annoying character during the waking process. This time I pull out a large knife and effectively run it across his throat as I wake.

This last part was strongly influenced by the “Secrets and Lies” television miniseries filmed where we used to live (where the father goes to get his oldest daughter and is insulted and pushed and told to leave by the younger male as if he had no right to look after his own children), where the little girl turns out to be the clever criminal and killer rather than the suspicious adult males or other characters. Sorry for giving it away but at least I spared you the misery of watching it. And yes, it was supposed to be a serious detective show.

Night of August 5, 2015. Wednesday.



I offer my humble apologizes for the title as it is a rather groan-worthy pun.

I am hovering out over the ocean in late afternoon it seems near what I assume is a four stacker liner. It is quite vivid and I am lucid but decide to just see what is going on and remain passive. Looking more closely, I see a series of portholes on the side of the ship. However, each round porthole is filled with one large human eye in a long perfect series as if either the ship is miniature or the people aboard are giants. Still, this would not be possible due to the fact that human heads could not be in that cramped a space or that close together as implied. I start thinking about what this means to me and remember the pair of large exotic green eyes that moved about on the wall when I was five (in my Rose Street apartment) and how it represented my dream girl before I met her in real life. I tie it in with the liner dreams and reflect on how lucky I have been since early childhood. I relax and feel a sense of peace regardless of the surreal imagery.

I am later walking around noticing there are no people in the immediate setting. I am at first thinking I am aboard the liner, unrealistically rendered as featureless (other than the floor and the portholes) to some extent, noting a series of circular portholes to my right as I am walking by them. However, I notice that the series of what I thought were portholes have somehow smoothly transformed into a series of front-loader washing machines without that much of a change in overall appearance. I am not aboard a ship now. I must be at a laundromat somewhere. I find myself amused at the concurrent transitions around me though wonder if the “giant beings” in the implied ship were some sort of spiritual manifestation related to purity of thought.