Blue_Opossum

Morning of May 23, 2015. Saturday.



As I have stated in past entries and within the scope of about 40,000 dreams, I have never once had a realistically threatening vampire or zombie dream. The oneironautic history that I note for the most part, contains only one comedic zombie dream (of the traditional kind - not relevant to the common modern misuse of the word) from 1981, and perhaps a handful of comedic vampire-related dreams.

This dream is no exception. There are only a few vivid scenes but there was nothing threatening at any point. It seems to have been based on a recent reflection of the Keanu Reeves “Dracula” movie from 1992, which seemed partly modeled after the Bugs Bunny cartoon “Transylvania 6-5000” (from 1963) and had too much of a carnival-like essence to feel anything like a horror film. However, the only scene I recall much from the movie was where Dracula and Jonathan Harker (Keanu Reeves) are talking (I think for the first time) and me remembering how incredibly astounded I was, as if I was halfway between being half-asleep and within a cartoon-like fantasy of one recursive panel. Additionally, the 1992 “Dracula” movie strongly reminds me of the Mad Magazine artist style of Sergio Aragones, especially “The Shadow Knows” feature (no relevance to the old-time radio program) where the altered shadow seems to be a “truthful representation” of what a person is thinking as in parts of the movie, making it more like a surreal and juvenile composite of Mad Magazine and the Bugs Bunny cartoon.

In my dream, I am apparently in a castle in Transylvania (on possibly the third or fourth storey), though it somehow feels, at times, like my childhood home in Cubitis (which only had the one ground-level storey). I have been hired by an older Dracula of about sixty years (who seems far more mature and “realistic” than the one from the 1992 movie) to write his memoirs, though the background stories of which are “too long” and extensive to make a feasible biography, so by which I need to make a condensed version based on thousands of old documents and records as well as listening to his stories and thus serving as his “ghost writer” as well as making real-time suggestions about what should be included. These numerous piles of old documents, stacked (each up to about a foot high though varying) at different angles and sitting about on at least four old equidistant wooden tables (of about two and a half feet high), though implied to be in a smaller room in the castle, “feel” during one time period, as if they are in my childhood bedroom in Cubitis, and may possibly represent, in some ways, the numerous dream journals and dream-related materials I had produced at the time (though this is only a guess). There is also a possible play on writing - linking “Pencil vania” with Transylvania and other terms including “trance” and “vein” or “vain” and perhaps even “brotherly love” concerning Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the idea of brotherly love superseding vampiric threat, though the later hand contact may be implied to be from my father (though I dreamed of both an older brother and my father during this same date in other dreams).

I am eventually seated in an armchair in what would otherwise feel like the northeast corner of the Cubitis living room (though again “actually” in the implied Transylvanian castle) with Dracula seated in another armchair to my right (this being the exact same location I had watched so many episodes of “Shock Theater” as a child, a main opening of which featured a vampire walking through a cemetery with parts of it enshrouded in mist). For a time, he places his left hand over the back of my right hand in a friendly manner. At this point, the sense of touch is greatly augmented and I clearly feel every nuance of his hand and fingers over the back of my hand, as well as the implied strength and even a slight reassurance (I do not really perceive myself as a potential victim as it is - besides, he needs me to ghostwrite his biography). After seemingly several minutes, he removes his hand as if perhaps the heat from my body is “too warm” for him to bear for very long (some sort of odd in-dream logic I guess).

I do not remember much after this, though the concept of a vampire must surely be different in-dream due to their apparent inability to tolerate warmth for very long (possibly a play on one lore being that they cannot be in daylight, which infers warmth). It is also possible that the vampire’s hand over mine is a result of “contact” (or the suggestion of such) by a “newly born” dream entity or tulpa in an attempt to inform me that I am in a dream state (yet which did not trigger lucid awareness as such). The final scene is also possibly one reason why I have never dreamed of vampires in any “serious” context - that is, they cannot be a threat if they cannot tolerate human body heat (even though that does not project the nature of the “real” lore as such - though my own mind’s logic seems to supplant it automatically whenever I am in a dream state).

Morning of May 23, 2015. Saturday.



I am not sure of the location or more detailed aspects of the setting, though it is in a house that is unfamiliar in layout, though not that defined beyond the immediate perspectives. I seem to be much younger, perhaps as young as twelve or more. The main focus of my dream is a (fictional) strategy game which is somewhat like a composite of Battleship (though one side played at a time for one game), Risk, and the notepaper and pencil game we played in school where one person draws tanks, soldiers, and structures and the other person blindly and quickly draws a random line over the playing field to see what he coincidentally hit. The game field is on a large thin plastic grid on the floor, possibly about fifteen by fifteen squares and maybe about four feet by four feet or smaller in size. It also has land features (at least one stream) that are either already painted on or added somehow. There are mostly plastic toy soldiers, vehicles, and buildings to place, including at least two three by three towers. The play involves the enemy team blindly “firing a missile” from one area on each turn, probably from behind a “wall” as otherwise they would just see the playing field. However, I do not seem to see this feature even though it would have to exist to play as indicated. My older brother Jim (deceased) sits in an armchair at one point and watches us for a time while eating a pizza. (Later, I notice Jim is gone, and hear a few flies buzzing around the residue left on the pizza box.)

One round is played by my team. There are at least four of us; all young males. One boy reminds me of a neighbor from Stadcor Street in Brisbane, though much stockier though his glasses and general facial appearance are mostly the same. At one point, our turn to set things up on our playing field commences. There is a break though, and I am the only one from my team seated in the area, though a member of the other team speaks with me as I move to temporarily sit on the other side. Apparently, there is some sort of odd rule that one member must tell the other team how to use the best strategy to beat them based on at least two or three patterns of the layout (or perhaps more). This does not seem to make sense. Why play a strategy game if you tell the other team the best way to proceed to win? Still, I try to do my best to suggest how the other team should proceed. I make a note of the last columns being a good start (because the area has a number of buildings all across the columns and many soldiers nearby) as well as the second row ahead (from my team’s perspective). The boy I talk to seems to be planning it out on a laptop computer. Still, he claims more information is needed for his team to have the advantage and I try to make the playing field’s quickest defeat potential clearer.

I eventually return to my position, being the third player from the left. The other team “fires a missile” and it moves all the way through the third column from my left, somehow taking out the bottom bricks from each building (which appears to happen in slow motion). The layout has two three by three towers right together (closer to the enemy’s end) and (closer to us) at least a six by three makeshift military building of some kind. What is left of the buildings does not tip or fall after this event though it seems like poor strategy (as in Battleship) to have put so much in one place since the placement of the rest can then more easily be guessed. The boy in the glasses seems rather upset and starts taking some of the pieces off the playing field. Meanwhile, my father (deceased as of February 14, 1979) comes into the room. (Seeing my father alive again after so many years does not trigger even an iota of lucidity.) He seems cheerful and watches us but absentmindedly knocks some pieces aside as he stands on one end of the playing field for a time, fouling up the rest of the game field even though the boy in glasses had already ruined much of the game by taking many of the pieces off.

Eventually, I follow the other boy into a different (smaller) room and notice that the game pieces had transformed (or had always been) the kind of plastic baby blocks of different shapes and with the hollow recesses on either side (such as squares, stars, circles, etc. which the child fits through equally-shaped holes into a container) though I do not really focus on much other than the annoying behavior of the other boy. I notice that some of the blocks (now on the floor) are dirty and so I plan on washing them before they are used in any future game. The boy wrinkles his nose as if he does not like how I smell (though an unpleasant smell is mostly on the blocks). I ask him if there is something wrong with him as I contemplate washing the game pieces/blocks as my dream slowly fades.

Morning of May 22, 2015. Friday.



There are a number of (seemingly) random facets to this dream. The first event relates to hearing about a comet on a collision course with Earth (the name of the comet not being known or mentioned) and to strike somewhere in New England (America); either Maine or Vermont. I heard the name of the city as well at one point, but do not recall it - or there could have been a “reset” to explain the Maine and Vermont confusion as I seem to recall both conflicting elements. The unusual detail is that it will supposedly not cause that much widespread destruction even though it is indeed an entire comet that had apparently passed by the Earth before. I am not that concerned as I am on the other side of the planet anyway. However, my (deceased) sister Marilyn is also an in-dream character, and she has never been outside the United States. I do seem to be living amidst some of my present real-life features and circumstances, though the setting is ambiguous.

The next part of my dream seems set in possibly our Stadcor Street home in Brisbane (though it does have a few elements reminiscent of our present house’s kitchen). It involves an unknown family cooking an elephant bird (extinct birds from Madagascar - formally known as Aepyornithidae) as some sort of taste test or trial. It is not fully known of how ordinary citizens in a family got the body of an elephant bird, though there is a mention of someone having cloned one. There are only two smaller cooked pieces on the plate (which resemble distorted parts of normal-sized chicken legs with about half the skin removed - which unrealistically represents a part of the otherwise huge bird), but oddly, my dream “resets” twice - where I eat the two pieces as three different people in a sequence; a black female of about thirty, one of her sons of about thirteen (who I believe cooked the meal), and as myself as I am now. I do not question this strange transition and impossible series of events of the changing in-body perspectives - it is like spiritually “jumping” from body to body for a very short time to experience the essence of how the person is moving and what they are tasting. The female gets annoyed by a single small red ant crawling on the edge of the plate at one point and says loudly to “get that animal out of the house” and it seems to foretell failed cooking endeavors in the future until it is removed. This part is a bit unusual in that the two pieces of meat are “still” on the plate as if they had not already been eaten three times over in the few “resets”.

After this is another somewhat confusing event involving my sister (appearing as she was in about 1980) chiding me (but without that much emotion) relating to having broken a CD case holder, which is somewhat drawer-like (so that it would fit in a larger cabinet in the kitchen). There is a part near the front on one side that is broken off, which is a cylindrical piece of plastic, which makes it difficult to keep the cases uniform. I explain how it had happened due to it being difficult to get the case back in, being slightly wider than what the holder seemed designed for. As I look around, I notice a couple dish racks which look very similar to the CD case holders (and almost the same size - but for smaller plates) and notice that there had been a breakage in the same area along the top runner of the “drawer” in at least two of the racks. I then say how I am not the one who had broken the other items, reflecting that my sister had probably done it, making the act of me having broken the other item seem less eventful and me less deficient. There are about a dozen holders for either CDs or small plates in the kitchen, all on the same side of the room. At this point, I am also still aware of the comet approaching the other side of the planet (but again, supposedly not to be a catastrophe even though I am somewhat wary of the idea).

Finally, I notice that I have an open cut near the middle of my right middle finger, which seems infected. Green jelly is showing, which somehow seems to be coagulated blood. I start to reflect on the idea, as I pull out what seems like an entire “vein” that resembles a green-apple strand of toothpaste but more viscous, that I probably should have gone to the doctor and gotten antibiotics before it progressed this far. Still, I am somewhat relieved that I am able to pull out most of this green “vein” (all the way down to my wrist) before it infects more of my body, but as I do, I am aware that it will make my hand somewhat hollow and eventually useless. There is one area above the knuckle that seems more problematic and “lumpy” as a result of the infection and needs to all come out. In fact, as I mention it to my sister, my hand is already weakened and “hollow” near the wrist where it will probably just flop around unable to be used to pick things up. Most of the muscle seems to somehow be gone shortly after my act of pulling out the green “Gummy Worm”, even though it was only the one strand that I pulled out.

Morning of May 20, 2015. Wednesday.



I am wandering about in different dream settings in less-defined unfamiliar areas though most of the scenes involve Mottled Houdans. (I have not worked near this kind of chicken in real life since on our exotic chicken farm in Florida when I was about sixteen.) In my dream, they have special attributes; even human-like in some cases. At one point, I touch some smaller Houdans at a (unknown and unfamiliar) chicken farm as they are strutting about in a larger area of the building (which has a dirt floor) and they seem almost like friendly cats in their behavior. For some reason, it dawns on me that they are “more like people” than any other animal (which of course is absurd).

At one point, I seem to be involved in the sales department for Murray McMurray Hatchery in another unfamiliar region, and there is a sort of confrontation with an actor whose name I cannot remember presently, along with about three other unknown males. (He reminds me vaguely of Mason Adams as from “Lou Grant”.) He asks me about another worker at the hatchery, claiming that he never got change back from any of his purchases and asks me if I knew the worker had been cheating him like this over a longer time period. I absentmindedly nod in agreement which causes the other male to think I knew he was cheating him though which is not the case. “I feel really stupid,” I say, and then explain to him that I did not know that that worker was keeping the change each time and only nodded out of absentminded agreement with whatever he was saying at first.

In another scene, I am near a group of Houdan hens. Even though they cannot see because of the feathers over their eyes, they seem to have some sort of sensitivity to be aware of other people and animals supposedly because of higher levels of sentience. I am somewhat surprised at their “skill” to be aware as such, seemingly even more than other animals that can see well.

Later, I am in Cubitis at my father’s chicken shed and checking on all the Houdans (even though we had many other breeds including very unusual experimental hybrids). At one point, in a more public area, I encounter a Houdan rooster that is as tall as I am. I “shake hands” with him (by clasping his wingtip) and the Houdan almost seems human (though does not speak, though there is a vague level of mental communication and mutual understanding). In fact, he seems to have the goal of becoming an astronaut and is eventually wearing a NASA space helmet. His “wife” dances with him for a time and they are somewhat intimate; their “public boldness” of which embarrasses me slightly. However, the rooster soon seems puzzled over why he cannot “kiss” his hen with the space helmet on and kind of just clunks against her beak a couple times at first. There are several unknown people in the area and I start to mingle with the crowd to give the Houdans some privacy. (I do get the feeling that I had been watching our two normal-sized Houdan pets from the late 1970s; Fonzie and Pinky.)

---

This dream had scenes of chickens “kissing”, something I do not recall dreaming of before. In fact, the rooster in this particular dream (Fonzie) seemed to represent an aspect of myself, as it was as tall as me and was bordering on an event of lucidity.

One of the photographs that a sister (on my father’s side) had sent shortly after this dream (with no way of me knowing she would send photographs - as we have not had that much communication throughout much of my life) has me holding a chicken (not a Houdan, though black and white) with its beak against my nose.

Morning of May 19, 2015. Tuesday.



Scenes in dreams like the following, related to digging through something like a couch, the floor, or a mattress, have not been that uncommon throughout my life since childhood but are usually fairly different in detail. Also, finding stuff in our house that had been left behind by any previous tenants or landlord (not necessarily requiring any digging in every case) is also recurring - though again, with different details, including previously “hidden” rooms or furniture we somehow had not noticed before. In addition to the fair amount of time spent in-dream looking for and finding things, there is often a mild sense of disappointment as well as having wasted time in some cases upon waking; a mood I usually do not acquire from a dream. In fact, as a child, when I did not know any better, I had a habit of holding onto the last item I found steadfastly in a futile attempt to wake up with it and have it in reality, though obviously, that never worked. I sometimes woke gripping my pillow or the sheet; other times just making a fist.

This dream has the recurring “couch filled with dirt” situation. My wife and I are in our present home on W Street and at one point I develop a vague curiosity about what may have been left behind by any previous tenants. It does not make all that much sense due to the fact that the couch, of the type that becomes a bed by the back dropping down (rather than the type we have in reality that folds out into a larger bed from under the seat) - and of the kind I had in Florida as a teenager for a time - is apparently our furniture in my dream (and thus moved here from a previous house regarding any in-dream back story, rendering my dream’s situation invalid). I start by ripping back the material near one end and digging through the dark dirt filling. At some points, I am able to go around the edges near the floor and find more items. Apparently, unlike in reality, there are no cushions; just “dirt bedding” within that goes all the way down to the floor.

What I find is typical of my in-dream “treasure hunts”. I find a few old random paperback novels; some science-fiction, some romance, and even a western or two (all unfamiliar). I find a couple board games that likely have missing tokens. There are some old magazines, larger documents that look like order blanks from A4-sized catalogs, but not any comic books that I can see. Being buried in rich soil for however long has not ruined anything, it seems. I eventually notice what may be some of our own paperback books (and some other items) close to the wall but behind the couch and stacked loosely on the floor, but am not exactly sure where our books end and the previously hidden items begin at one point since the dirt had become looser and some items came out from the back of the couch.

At one point, I find a longer mostly yellow commercial cardboard container (about one and a half feet by four inches high by eight inches wide) that apparently contains something related to sexuality or the enhancement thereof, though there are no graphic images on the box, just a few printed images of smooth paintings of the backs of a pair of female hands. For a short time, I think that I would probably not want something that belonged to someone else in this case, though the box turns out to be empty other than having two smaller additional featureless gray empty cardboard boxes inside. I am not sure what was in it - possibly only perfume containers or massage oils of some sort.

Eventually, after sorting out mostly the paperbacks into stacks, I also find a number of children’s cardboard frame tray puzzles farther down but do not see the pieces at first (just the shallow cardboard trays). I do eventually find most of the pieces in another area when almost all of the dirt has been moved and I am down to the surface of the wooden floor. One puzzle seems to just utilize a large piece with a drawing of a person’s head that fits in the frame tray (which has minor details of the shoulders and neck, etc.), though others are more complex and “realistic” in nature and including pieces shaped like stars, apples, houses, etc. I notice that some of the pieces have been ruined by someone’s attempt to pull the different layers apart (as younger children sometimes tend to do), some with thin parts of the layers or strips still attached and a couple missing the imagery ply. I decide to keep them to sort out later (for our children) to see which ones are still complete and undamaged.

After a long exploration and setting aside newly found items, I am somewhat frustrated over having reached the wooden floor via the couch, wondering if I should keep going with my quest, though which would require pulling up the planks to get to anything underneath them (which does not make any sense as in reality our house is up on posts and you can actually see through the floorboards to the ground below). I am also puzzled over what had happened to all the dirt since the couch seems somewhat “hollow” at this point (at least on one end) and I do not see any piles of dirt nearby. I do start to smooth over what dirt is left at the other end in the attempt to make the couch “solid” and evenly surfaced as it was, so that it is properly comfortable again. (This is somewhat illogical as the upholstery I had ripped and damaged in my quest would still need to be repaired.)

Finally, I seem to be able to look down under the house and beyond (towards the back of our house) and under a different room; some sort of odd viewpoint that would not be possible in reality (though which may otherwise imply some sort of open space between the lower part of the wall in the next room and the floor, similar to the setup way back on Rose Street as a young child). I see that there are a very large number of small wooden containers under the house in a (fictional) enclosed storage area, each filled with a very large number of vertically arranged seed packets, which I am aware are likely mostly edible plants including carrots, celery, lettuce, strawberry plants, and so on. I start to consider planting them everywhere and anywhere, as there are so many, we are bound to get something edible over time, and for a long time, as there seem to be thousands of packets. I wake up feeling slightly annoyed at having wasted time finding everything.

Morning of May 18, 2015. Monday.



I am in an unknown area, seemingly in late morning, near a small wooden cattle fence but which does not seem very high. However, at times, it seems I am inside my present home on W Street and outside in this unfamiliar area at the same time though it does not seem like a bilocated setting, only ambiguous.

I notice a very unusual bird walking around on the other side of the fence (and in conscious afterthought it looks much like a bittern but the coloring is wrong and it seems unnaturally “stretched” and thin). Upon seeing this unexpectedly unusual bird that I do not recall ever seeing before, I want to show it to members of my family. I start yelling the names of my two youngest sons and my wife Zsuzsanna but there is no response (and my voice sounds quite loud to me). I can see the feet of my second youngest son through a doorway as it seems he is lying on a bed reading (again, it seems as if I am outside and inside my house at the same time though looking through the other doorway of my “house”). I continue to yell their names, becoming a bit frustrated that no one is responding.

Finally, they all come out but by this time the bird is farther from the fence though still visible. I get the impression (though not correct) that it is some kind of ibis and say this aloud, but pronounce it like “ee-bus”, so I start to think that maybe the bird is not that rare or unusual after all. The members of my family do not seem that impressed by the bird.

Meanwhile, this extremely unusual-looking man in our “yard” and who is wearing what reminds me of a Canadian Mountie hat, remains motionless (and slightly leaning forward) and gazing at two extraordinarily odd-looking twin young girls on the other side of the fence (yet none of these people had been seen just moments before). They all seem unrealistically ugly, looking almost like troll dolls (though more naturally human-like). Either the man is making fun of their appearance by somehow making his face look like theirs (and I do not consider how this would not actually be possible), or the girls can manipulate how someone else’s face appears (equally impossible) as well as somehow “freezing” the person they are gazing at (though not necessarily turning them to stone). I am not quite certain which is the case even in conscious afterthought though I am somewhat wary of going near the fence to get a better look at the bird because I also vaguely remember something about Stheno and Euryale, the Gorgons. There seems to be an offset scene where the girls make their faces completely blank (with no eyes, nose, or mouth) and the man seems in distress as his face becomes blank. He pulls his hat down while also seeming to pull at his hair as he seems to be bending forward more, perhaps against his will. The mother of the girls is nearby but her appearance is seemingly normal. Nothing much happens after this, just an unexplainable sense of caution.

---

Unusual-looking or unidentifiable large “exotic” birds, though often with heron, egret, stork, or bittern attributes, are a fairly common feature in some dream types since early childhood. They often consistently have the same unusual mood or essence that is not present in other dream types.

---

Morning of May 18, 2015. Monday.



I become semi-lucid and start to wonder about how I had gotten or just bought a lopsided ice cream cone I am holding or even whether in fact it is mine. This occurs in a mostly undefined area though possibly in Brisbane (and with a fleeting sense of nostalgia). It seems like I should eat it before it melts nonetheless. However, my dream becomes completely dark (and completely undefined) with a simultaneous increase in the sensitivity of touch (recurring event since early childhood). I reflect on how it is sometimes difficult to walk around in complete darkness and be able to communicate with people or even in fact avoid bumping into others (recurring concept since early childhood). After a short time, I realize that I cannot feel the ice cream cone in my hands and am annoyed about the wastage of money. There is a brief attempt to feel the ice cream cone even though it is not there - a sort of illogical concern over whether or not I am using the sense of touch correctly.

After this, abstract “realizations” come to mind. I am not sure if what I had was an elephant’s head, a map of South America or the lopsided ice cream cone - or perhaps all three due to them being the “same thing”. I falsely “remember” this being an early childhood situation that had occurred a few times in which there was also the “memory” of three sequential pages in a coloring book of an elephant’s head, a map of South America, and a lopsided ice cream cone and possibly several other “identical” shapes as well as perhaps the Eiffel Tower on the last page for no particular relation or reason. I try to remember upon waking if I had actually seen South America transformed into an elephant’s head in a Gold Key comic book “reader’s page” (where contributing readers sometimes sent drawings of faces made from an arrangement of letters from a word), but am not sure.

Morning of May 16, 2015. Saturday.



My wife and family and I are on some sort of tour where we visit different movie studios as well as at least one television studio. Mostly, modern ghost stories are being filmed. We do go to one set that seems to be a soap opera about doctors having affairs with their patients. Every now and then, a “key” scene is being filmed where an unidentified person runs in front of the camera and later something horrifying supposedly happens (though no horror is ever actually seen).

At one point, the “person running past the camera” becomes annoying and the set mood fairly boring (even though most of the sets are somewhat dark and mysterious). At the soap opera set (which is well-lit), as a male doctor is professing to a female patient about how much he loves her, a shadow darts past the camera and the director screams “Cut!” and throws the script to the floor and tells whoever it is that they are at the wrong studio set. The shadow seems to cower and is seen (on a featureless wall) walking on tiptoes for a time.

Many more scenes are filmed in various so-called horror films where a shadowy figure runs in front of the camera (just as in reality where almost every movie I have seen over the past several years has at least one scene where someone runs in front of the camera, which has become more and more hilarious over the past year, causing my wife and I to laugh out loud every time it happens).

Eventually, I absentmindedly shout “Hey, who are you?” (though there is no discernible lucidity behind my potentially bold imposing query) and Charlie Chaplin steps out from behind a wall. Very oddly (in the highest awareness and “energized” rendering), I get an impression, as he approaches, of a quivering chihuahua (as if the dog was afraid of being punished for making a mess on a rug). He also appears to be dropping crumpled-up bits of paper as if trying to find what note is relevant to his present role of running past a particular camera. He never speaks.

Someone says something about the “scariest movie ever” and I start swearing, asking how a movie could be scary as it is just a moving image on a screen a fair distance from the viewer. Charlie starts holding his index finger vertically to his lips, as a librarian does to “shush” the patrons. This seems to be because I am using too many swearwords as well as being too loud.

Charlie puts on a pair of fake bunny ears and runs past the camera once again. There is a loud scream and the sound of something metallic falling, possibly a spotlight. I start slapping my knees and laughing.

Morning of May 15, 2015. Friday.



In the first part of my dream, I am with my wife and children in what seems to be our previous home on Barolin Street. I mostly remain around the area near the doorway into the kitchen, though staying mostly in the living room. I have some sort of card, about the size of a standard playing card or trading card, that is transparent in some areas and may be three-layered (with the transparent part being sandwiched between two thin cardboard layers that may have a couple abstract patterns). When I hold it up over my left eye, it creates realistic holograms in the room of various (unfamiliar) people walking around, sitting down (on our actual furniture), and interacting with each other. It is almost like watching characters in a movie. It is very realistic and three-dimensional and I mention this to my wife who is standing near the doorway at one point. This dream scene is almost like the opposite in mood to my dream from yesterday (“Several Intruders” from May 14th) in that there is a cheerful and interesting atmosphere (though of course, in this case, I decide whether or not to see them via usage of the card). I remain intrigued by how “realistic” the holographic people are though they are completely intangible and lack the potential to interact with, apparently, and I do not clearly recall experiencing them audibly speaking or at least what was said. There are mostly a few older females in long old-fashioned dresses as well as children (both male and female) of various ages.

Later, the living room of the Barolin Street house seems to slightly infuse into a composite that includes my old King Street apartment (the northeast corner room with the cupola area), though it “feels” more like the Barolin Street house. Still, the pinhead Leonard S shows up (mostly standing) and there is also an unknown younger male in the room (sitting on the floor) and he seems annoyed. He is possibly a college student and is probably loosely modeled after friend Rick S though he does not resemble him that much. He becomes angry after I inform him not to go through my belongings and he eventually starts yelling about not having eaten for several days, which is supposedly why his mood is atypically as it presently is. I go to check the status of my (fictional) collection of trading cards. (In fact, he may have been going through my room to find food, though this is not certain.)

My “collection”, or at least about half of it, seems to include duplicates of the same musician-themed card (and which are more like typical plain trading cards; not like the hologram-making card in the first part of my dream). Two of the slightly sketchy card designs are Rick Springfield (thus the possible association with friend Rick S) and David Essex - though the cards seem to have been made in the early 1960s or the late 1950s, which makes the scenario impossible (which is typical of dreams for some reason). Inside a large white wooden cabinet on the bottom spacious shelf is a sequence of four metal (silver) rotating trading card racks that make me think of rotating comic book racks (also called “revolving comic book racks”) except about one-fourth the size and with four tiers each. I am annoyed by the different tiers coming apart and some of the cards falling out onto the shelf and floor (though I do not question why I would have so many copies of the same card). I keep trying to fix everything up as the unknown male complains about his status in the background. I seem to have a slight empathy for him regarding his plight.

Morning of May 14, 2015. Thursday.



My wife and family and I seem to be living in our present home on W Street though I get the vivid impression that our house is rotated completely around by 180 degrees (there being a very clear in-dream awareness of the real-life “kitchen space” now as the rotated living room in relative directional awareness), thus our front door faces the south into our implied backyard and alley beyond. However, I cannot be certain how the rest of the neighborhood’s layout has been altered by my dream’s rendering as I am never outside at any point. The front wall, where the window otherwise is, is different in that it has the potential to be a portal into another world. This portal (or implied inter-dimensional gateway that could give access to several different alternate worlds depending on the setup) is seemingly controlled by at least four bricks that are arranged in a line and used with some sort of incantation I think or at least by having each brick in a particular special position in contrast to every other (it may even relate to four bits in the construct of half a byte though it seems like some sort of ancient technology related to a lost civilization).

At one point, I place the four bricks on the floor near the sofa. I put them in a row of four and each brick in its specific place, though in lieu of instructions someone else gives me, but the portal still appears in the wall, revealing an outside area beyond (where our front porch would actually be seen through the window). It almost seems like some sort of wharf immediately beyond (though does vaguely cause me to consider that part of it is “still” our porch). My older brother Earl (deceased) and an unknown male are going to go into this other world, supposedly for a short time, to explore the area and possibly take notes for a possible later documentary or book. My brother only looks to be in his late twenties here. Although it was decided that they first visit the culture that invented the system, there are no organic traces of that society apparently, due to so many thousands of years having passed (though some buildings, including temples with religious motifs, are still there).

A short time later, it is realized that the wall has closed up, possibly due to someone accidentally moving one of the control bricks on the floor. A few other unknown people are visiting and want to make sure my brother and the other male are able to get back. I try a few different arrangements of the four bricks, but the wall remains “doorless” (or without the portal to the other world) for about twenty minutes. Meanwhile, I discover that by touching a brick a certain way or tapping it on the floor, it doubles into two bricks. This seems problematic, as the more bricks there are, the more possible patterns that can be made, complicating the potential to implement the right arrangement by chance. Somehow, I end up with about ten bricks, a couple of them being slightly smaller.

I get rather annoyed and throw a brick so that it hits the side of the sofa. Oddly, it turns into a can of Sunkist Orange Soda. A few other bricks also transform into drinks when I throw them, including a few cartons (half pints) of chocolate milk, which are shared with the visitors. I sit down on the couch on the right end to drink from my Sunkist can and I end up drinking rapidly emerging foamy soda. The detail and sensations are quite vivid and realistic. I worry about wasting too much of it, but am able to drink it quickly enough so that most of it is consumed. In afterthought, the augmented sense of touch in this case (and even the associated slurping sounds) is somewhat amazing though I do not become lucid. It is possibly one of the most vivid and realistic drinking sensations I have ever had in a dream to date.

I carelessly attempt different positioning of the bricks, throwing a couple more at times in frustration, including at the front inner wall. Eventually though, the portal appears (via a random experimental arrangement of the bricks on my part, of which there are about six left) and my brother and the other male walk into the living room. The area behind them looks exactly like the same “wharf” from earlier in my dream. My brother says that he and the other man had been in the other realm for nearly a year, though he looks about ten years older than before. I tell him that the portal had only been closed for about twenty minutes.

Later, there is some sort of shift where I look out from a different “porch” of some kind from the west side of the house. There is a vague concern of a giant creature (perhaps King Kong) or large stylistic dinosaur (or Godzilla) appearing from over the eaves somewhere. This never occurs and I am not that fearful of the potential. I eventually cannot quite place where I am. In fact, I seem to be in two different locations at the same time, yet both of which are nearly the same - and in addition, while being disembodied in perspective of a third location that is also very similar. I continue to ponder on the three different “same” places and whether or not a monster will soon appear in any of them, though again, nothing happens as I slowly wake.

Morning of May 14, 2015. Thursday.



My family and I are presently living where we are in real life, on W Street. I seem to be the only one home at first, though I eventually notice my two youngest sons playing with toy cars on the living room floor in the last segment of my dream. The house in-dream is larger than it is in reality. It seems to be nighttime throughout most of my dream.

I eventually hear someone talking to me very loudly and clearly through the fully closed and locked back door. Thus, as there is obviously a trespasser in our backyard I become very annoyed. At first he seems to be demanding some small change but then seems to be requesting a wine bottle or two (we have no alcohol in reality). I decide to go and tell him off and possibly knock him unconscious with one of my long steel barbells. When I open the back door (while holding a barbell), I see that he is apparently a homeless person with a long beard and perhaps around forty years old. There is also a younger man (of about thirty) farther out and on the east side of the yard to my left. He is seemingly my (unfamiliar) next-door neighbor who seems annoyed by the drunk but also annoyed with me even though he is also trespassing in my yard - as there is a tall wooden fence between the properties that cannot easily be climbed over. I have a brief dream within a dream (though not very clear) of throwing them both over the fence. I close the door and go back into my house, but there are eventually somehow a few other unknown males roaming around in the rooms. I become angrier at this additional set of impositions.

At one point, two unknown females (about eighteen or possibly younger) enter the house through the front door. As with a few other dreams, the window area on the north wall relative to the porch and beyond is almost skeletal or unfinished, allowing passersby to get into the house easier if they choose, by coming in through the “window” or between two vertical planks. The girls seem very dominant and unimpressed by my ordering them to leave and they act as if my house is just a convenient shortcut (though they eventually leave the same way they came in, but return briefly). After a time, I start to walk around, asking aloud “Where’s my pistol?” I notice a couple toy plastic squirt guns on the table and make a note of it. I talk about calling the police, but do not (not even being sure of where the telephone is in this case).

At one point, another unknown male bumps into me when coming through the living room (as I am standing near the front door) to leave via the front door - another intruder who had somehow just gotten in through the back door and wandered through the house until deciding to leave. This elevates my anger and makes me feel displaced in my own home. It feels despicable and ridiculous to have to put up with this.

I eventually see another male near the porch’s (fictional) outer screen door as if trying to get in (it is locked at this point at least). The porch is rendered differently than in real life at this point. It seems more elongated eastward and has a wider and far more logical footpath-facing entrance rather than being very narrow and illogically perpendicularly offset to the left as in reality (thus extremely inconvenient, if not impossible, to use the front entrance for carrying out furniture or larger items, including baby prams - an extraordinarily stupid architectural design for a residence, in fact, requiring furniture to be lifted up and over the higher porch wall by up to three people).

The last male attempting to get into our house (for no particular reason) has a very strange appearance and is also muscular though with odd skin. He has black veins in his forehead that are somewhat reminiscent of plant roots and extend down a bit on the sides of his face (and for a moment I ponder on whether it is some sort of eerie tattoo I am seeing - or perhaps he is somehow not fully human). I open the door and push him back and vividly feel his weight and presence. Out on the street, to my right, are more annoying people who are just mindlessly staring at our house. The level of vividness is quite pronounced to near-lucidity, though I do not become directly lucid at any point. There is no feeling of being actually threatened at any time, just pointlessly imposed upon.

---

Morning of May 14, 2015. Thursday.



In the first part of my dream, we seem to be living in our present home on W Street, though it seems isolated and near a beach at one point. There seems to be an implication of beach land both south and north of us. For a time, I get an unusual sense of the end of the world approaching, though it resolves into lesser thoughts of mild uneasiness at the thought of all that is of mankind ceasing to exist one day (but probably not in my lifetime). This is seemingly caused by my wariness of how the moon appears above the horizon to the north in the nighttime sky and being of an unusual yellowish orange color. When I look out, I see, other than the eerie moon, mostly only a featureless beach to the north, the shoreline running somewhat north to south, west of our house.

In another scene, I am admiring my (fictional) black leather jacket and black leather pants that had been draped over the back of a chair in the dining room (which we presently use as a bedroom). (I do not presently own any such apparel in reality and only wore such clothes over twenty years ago.) I think of the jacket (though which is more like a shirt design) and pants as the “only” clothes that are ever worth wearing. They look very new and “perfect” in every way. I decide not to presently wear them, though, as I get the impression that elderly ladies, as well as some elements of local authority, would frown upon such a thing and have an entirely different idea about who I am than anything related to truth, which would prove to be problematic since people are often incorrectly judged solely by what they wear.

At another point, I see my oldest son, who comes into the other room and sits on a couch briefly, as I watch through an indoor window (similar to the real one in the inner wall in the front room) and have a short-term concern about his well-being (in real life he just had a wisdom tooth and another one pulled the day after this dream) though he does not see or regard me at any point. The layout and distance orientation seems different; a strange sort of shifting southward so that my son’s room is seemingly where the kitchen is in reality, yet I also get a vague feeling of looking into the living room in Cubitis through the indoor window though it also seems to be some sort of one-way mirror at one point.

At another point, I open the door that in real life is to my oldest son’s room (from off the living room) though instead of a larger bedroom it is a somewhat spacious closet (about one-fifth the size of the real room) with at least three wooden built-in shelves going all the way around each wall. Most of the shelves are filled with larger plastic toys and action figures, it seems. From the middle shelf to my left, I pick up some sort of odd large robot-looking contraption (also made solely of plastic), which is mostly blue and white, and the legs are loose and hang down as if partly detached (and though it vaguely reminds me of Lego blocks in some sections, I do not think it is Lego). I think about fixing it though I am not sure what it is or how it works, though take it to the living room to check it and wake soon after.

Morning of May 13, 2015. Wednesday.



My wife and I are looking through a large window. The setting is seemingly my old bedroom in Cubitis though the window (not as it was in real life) is seemingly just an open area to look through a wall to the south (without any window features to block or distort any of the sky scene). I study the nighttime sky and notice a series of red and blue stars in no particular pattern. Some of them do imply a vertical line, though not straight. They also seem to be planets at some points and all the round shapes are all the same size. I have a slight concern as to whether or not this is a possible threat (and concern about how close these supposed stars or planets are to Earth), but it is not that clear an emotion. There are about a dozen in all, not that close together, though somewhat constellation-like.

The imagery is not quite right, though. I sometimes get the impression at times that some of the cloud cover is behind a few of the stars which is of course impossible. Also, I seem to be aware that the stars are casting shadows against the backdrop of space, which is also ridiculous. Still, the imagery is beautiful. It reminds me of my prenatal memories and what seemed to be prenatal dreams, the main one featuring red and blue stars - or mostly the change of such, and their coming into existence or fading depending on my level of attention and focusing upon them or their potential to exist, almost as if they represented how conscious I was in the womb (relative to their brightness).

Morning of May 12, 2015. Tuesday.



I had a very peaceful and enjoyable long dream considering the recent NBN fiasco just outside our window where there was also a long loud argument later today between a young female and a lineman about why the telephones were not back on after a day.

In my dream, I am in Tel Aviv, Israel with my wife and several people I knew more about in my school days, ready to become involved in a long music concert as the main performer (and I switch instruments at times). Some first members of the audience (mostly female in traditional Persian dress for some reason) stand on a mezzanine viewing us getting together on the first floor stage (though there are eventually more people on the first floor prior to the concert beginning). This makes me slightly wary at first, though I feel very assertive and confident throughout the rest of my dream even though things seem weird on a secondary level at times (like a wavering dream within a dream that is somewhat like having two or more dreams at the same time; fairly rare, but experienced enough to know the phenomenon in a familiar sense).

My dream concert follows the general pattern of a recurring song set which varies in some versions of the scenario. Before we start, I notice two (unfamiliar) dark-haired girls, seated on the floor and leaning against the wall, who seem to be faithful fans of my group, though the group does not even seem to have a name (at least not one I can remember in this case). Oddly, one of the girls is wearing sunglasses, which takes me a moment to perceive as such - because the sunglasses have painted-on human eyes, a bit larger than normal, so that her appearance is somewhat eerie. The other girl is missing her left eye, which instead, is a mostly featureless area with barely discernible wrinkles. I do not comment on either oddity. There is also a light-haired girl who seems a bit too pale and I ask her where she is from. She comments that she does not actually live in Israel but that her family is on a vacation.

I notice a male seated at a picnic table and facing me (though talking to others on his right about technical details of our upcoming show) at the second picnic table back on the opposite side from me. He is seemingly a member of my music group and I contemplate whether or not he is Orlando Jones (the actor from “Sleepy Hollow”; the television series) or my friend from middle school days who is now a well-known singer in Germany in real life. I conclude that he is my old friend Roosevelt and it is very good to see him here.

When we are ready, we seem to go into ad-lib or practice modes now and then, making the songs quite a bit longer and more interesting, with many dynamics that are not in the original recordings. These new versions of the songs (via my imagination) have gradually built up over the years, becoming more and more theatrical and intriguing in their fullness. At one point, an unknown older male with a harmonica infuses some additional nice-sounding impromptu bars. In the offset (dream within a dream) there is the focus on at least two members playing cereal boxes like guitars, held at an angle. Guitar-like music can still be heard in this case.

The first song performed is “Speak to the Sky” (originally done by Rick Springfield), which typically starts out with me playing the opening on a banjo and soon joined in crescendo (in the next verse) by drums, keyboards, and other vocalists (doing occasional intense harmonics that repeat part of a phrase I sing now and then, such as “I am blind” just after my phrasing, or fuller phrases such as “seems awful hard to find” at the same time as my phrasing). The audio of my voice seems amazingly well-rendered in my dream but does not sound like my real voice and also has an unidentifiable accent (almost like a composite of French and Romanian) - and there are also a few unusual “glitches” here and there (typical of dreams). However, in this particular dream, instead of a banjo, it seems I am actually playing the opening on a ukelele with somewhat of an odd muted sound at one point (though there are a few “resets” and offset “dream within a dream” sections). (“Doesn’t always rhyme” is usually done with more of a longer pentuplet feel, requiring a brief change in the otherwise 4/4 timing.)

The second song we perform is “Dear Prudence” (originally a Beatles song), where I start out playing something that sounds a bit like the style of Jeff Lang (the best slide guitarist I have ever heard) but then I quickly switch to an electric bass by grabbing it from the person on my left when the song changes from the sustained beginning bass notes to the intimate, almost overwhelming bass riff (possibly one of the best bass lines I have ever heard, the second being from Bob Marley’s “I Shot the Sheriff”).

After the first two songs (and in one “reset” there are also unusual-sounding horn sections - almost cinematic in style), my dream begins to decay into unusual “resets” and repeating patterns and becoming somewhat abstract, but remains a very positive dream experience until I wake.

Morning of May 11, 2015. Monday.



I seem to be in a cold region in a mostly featureless building with little or no furniture. There are more children than adults and it illogically seems to be near either Antarctica or the Arctic region, though that is not certain. Most people seem seated and leaning against a grayish inner wall. The setting remains mostly semi-dark. There seems to be a concern for an unknown length of time about having warmer clothes or more food just to survive from day to day, though the setting does not really seem apocalyptic.

A man who reminds me of Nixon makes a brief (at first) appearance. However, the face is not very realistic, even being somewhat plastic-like, like a mask, and quite pale. It is not a mask though; it is just a “frozen grin” over a somewhat grotesque, almost sadistic visage. At one point, the man lifts his arms up as Nixon used to do but for no particular reason, it seems, though he seems to automatically do it when approached or addressed.

The “Nixon” man seems to be the main authority around the warehouse-like refuge. There is a small plant nursery but not nearly enough to feed the residents. At one point, a ship arrives, requiring certain males to go out and chop away at the ice until the ship gets through in a rather time-wasting zigzagging route. There are mostly only sheep aboard the ship (probably some sort of word play going on here).

The Nixon man goes close to some of the sheep and holds their “chin” to look into their eyes. He tells the captain of the ship to take them all back and I see a rather odd cartoon balloon fading in and out that shows sketchy sheep drawings - they are sitting in chairs and playing cards. “Send back the sheep,” says Nixon, “so that they may fulfill their dreams of white houses and picket fences” (“white house” likely a play on “White House” and “picket” related to picketing/protesting). I see a one-panel cartoon of a sheep mowing the lawn in “Far Side” style (possible reference to sheep shearing - not sure if it came from an actual cartoon image I once saw - I know there were a lot of “sheep as humans” gags).

I am aware that all of the adults and children will die, but there is a strange focus on whether or not it will be by starvation or lack of warm clothes. I also have a brief thought that they may be the last humans on Earth, even though, again, it somehow does not seem apocalyptic (at least not a major event).

Similar to another recent dream, I only see a head floating near my dream’s final segment. In this case, Nixon’s entire body and much of the head vanishes, leaving a Guy Fawkes mask that moves side to side in a corner of an empty room (in midair at head height) as if to say “no” (although I do not get the impression it is saying “no”; just a result of some sort of momentum with no intelligence of any kind being present). I am trying to “remember” if the whole Earth is frozen.



There is a sustained hypnopompic focus on the misuse of the word “carnivore” to describe non-vegetarians or to describe anyone that eats meat at all. (I do not eat much cooked red meat and do not care much for steak - did not eat hardly any steak prior to around age nineteen. Also, lamb meat makes me immediately ill due to its horrid greasiness and I cannot understand how people can eat it unless in a survival situation.) The ridiculous misuse of the word “carnivore” (in the uneducated colloquial sense; in the same light as calling a turtle a “gopher” or a skunk a “polecat” as they do mainly in the south in America) makes me realize how critical thinking skills are completely lacking in some people just to serve a fringe agenda and to continuously belittle or troll others. A vegetarian does not usually eat meat (and I have nothing against vegetarians), so a carnivore would technically not ever eat vegetables or in fact, anything but fresh uncooked meat. Reason does not dawn on such people, though, even in diverse situational examples related to survival scenarios and it is quite unfortunate. This is something that sometimes goes through my mind, this time influenced by a few things I recently saw on the media related to the supposed torture of all sheep by all shearers (notice I said “all”) when sheared, which was rightfully discredited and debunked by the news staff (though certainly not to imply that the media is always honest or that all shearers are competent).

Ironically, sheep are used as an argument for sentient beings and their (animal) rights while some of the same mentalities call people “sheep” in a very negative context; hypocrisy at its finest. I pointed this out back in 1991 to penfriends from California and it actually dawned on them that my commentary was correct and that the realization caused them to feel a bit strange and less “militant” and “anti-human” in their views.