Blue_Opossum

Morning of February 5, 2014. Wednesday.



I am walking through a large vineyard with my beautiful wife Zsuzsanna in possibly mid-afternoon. I am uncertain of the location or region. A sense of love dominates the mood.

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Night of February 4, 2014. Tuesday.



Being meticulous in my dream state at times, sometimes to the point of over-thinking in several layers at once, I verified something that caught me by surprise in a sort of sudden realization. While working on the foundation of a new track which I do plan on eventually finishing, I ended up confirming a dream concept to an extent, anyway. By chance, I used a filter that produces a supposed “swirly” effect - and in this case, I am not even sure if it uses the source audio when rendering, as it mostly sounds the same in every case for a particular setting regardless of the supposed source (then again, it depends on the perimeters or intent of the effect). I say this because some functions do use the source audio for certain - which can vary to quite an extreme - yet always sounds the same in each case, or at least hard to distinguish.

In this case I was playing with an effects VST for no intended reasons other than to see the images that were produced by the frequency bands at different speeds and pitches and such, and by which I integrated the first 1.71 seconds of the audio of the hybrid dubstep foundation. What resulted verified my dream - that is, the image that almost looks like an om symbol repeating throughout. This is not a very good image of what actually comes out, though, I wanted to post a better image - but its difficult when being in lower formats. It is also true that an image of a word or symbol can be deliberately translated into sound, but such does not seem the case here, as the perimeters are far too extensive for me to have just coincidentally put in the perimeters that just happened to make the symbol appear - there are 362,880 variations relating to “shaping” forms in this particular way - as well as the functions being programmed rather than stored as audio information as with some VSTs. (This is true and can be verified by the fact that the editor is one hundred percent manual with no additional waveforms or audio information stored anywhere - therefore the om symbol was not intended at all by the original programmer who could not have possibly known all the thousands of potential variations in settings - unless he knew the actual functions for it and buried it among thousands of other potentials - which, frankly, seems unlikely and unrealistic, even a bit unreasonable and pointless, though not impossible).

However, and it is a very big “however”, it seems that the function actually did use the source audio here upon realistic examination - and it is fairly obvious that it did from the visual details in some areas. In that case, there is no way the programmer could have known what would result in this instance. The missing bands in the larger image near the higher ranges are not my mistake, but it was like this in the original percussive track. I used an exciter to make it less problematic as well as having to additionally notch out more bands from horrid metallic “ringing” in the original audio that threw off the average dB (spike-wise) in a rather ridiculous way as I have seen a lot in tracks on the Internet.

I do know of so-called producer packs with deliberate images in the sound (although it is fairly rare), but this was not the case as, again, it is an effect-only manifestation. Obviously, the majority of people would not even “hear” the om symbol image, as unless you are familiar with something like this, it might as well not even exist. This is obviously true even for dreams for millions of people, who remember nothing in many cases.

I inset the actual om symbol for comparison - but as I said, this image is not all that precise or even very visible - as it is a lower resolution with a different rate and detail than the original event (which I did not try to duplicate until today - so probably “lost” a perimeter somewhere).

Morning of February 3, 2014. Monday.



The backyard and back area of our home is Cubitis, but the front area is Barolin Street in Australia, so the directional orientation is very ambiguous. North is one way in the back, but the opposite direction at the front, assuming the composite is half and half as it seems - it does not seem that odd that north is in both (opposite) directions. The area near the railroad tracks has a very high screen-like plastic fence. Over time, I get the impression that an airplane came down and crashed where the small lake (for the cows) was - perhaps it hit the silo. Really, though, the area is different and seemingly an industrial area with a lot of buildings, including a few factories.

This “crashing” or explosive noise happens a few times. I am somewhat annoyed and wonder if it poses a possible threat. The actual premise of my dream changes, as I point out a plane that flies over the house and which actually does crash in the same spot as the previous at one point - but later this seems not to have happened. When my dream then implies a different reason for the noise, I then see that they are demolishing (fictional) buildings with explosives. The debris showers nosily against the fence and I wonder how close they plan on getting. Eventually, they seem to be stopping for the day. I notice one of the workers in the neighbor’s yard, walking towards the front of the house. I yell at him about what is going on. There is some sort of remote control device on a rod - the remote on one end of the thinner silver rod, and a matte-black grip on the other, which is used to guide a smaller robotic cart into some of the areas they are destroying. A German shepherd dog with an orange flag tied around its collar on a small wire escapes from a cage (seeming to be a part of their work) and for some reason the man gets distracted and temporarily trapped in the same cage and falls down as I jab him in the forehead and eyes with the remote after taking it from him.

On a side note, I have had other fairly recent dreams about a passive (to me) German Shepherd, when in the past, most larger dogs (usually rust-colored or black) were “enemies”. In this case, the dog starts attacking the man even though he is seemingly the owner or trainer yet somehow the dog is (temporarily?) my protector in a sense (perhaps in just being in my yard). The man eventually gets up to try to leave.

The man is only slightly hurt, but his vision has not fully returned. He starts yelling about people interfering with his work, accidentally going into our house, but out again, and I start yelling at him “How would you like it if I came to your house and started blowing up things near your yard?”

Soon, there is another explosion, but in the other direction. My family and I go out to see and notice the devastation. The man is lying dead near where the porch had been. Two cars on our side of the street had been destroyed, one flipped. Oddly, the damage looks like an elongated splintery effect on the sides of the cars, almost like narrower metal barnacles. The porch is gone and the front and side walls of both front bedrooms. We tell our oldest daughter that “your room is gone” - although in real life it had been our oldest son’s room. Strangely, though, there is no debris, just the missing areas - and I contemplate how to set things up back to where they were. It also seems that none of our possessions were actually damaged.

However, I must first drag the man to the back and bury him. I am not certain if it was suicide or some sort of accident where he did not get away in time after deliberately planning it, but my main guess is probably suicide. I ask my wife where I should put him. I then decide to put him near the edge of the carport in the back. When I dig, I use a fairly small shovel, but get an amazing amount done for the size. There is a lot of junk mail on the carport, some smaller bundles of three to five in rubber-bands. The physical weight of the man seems fairly realistic, although he seems a bit small and thin on average. I throw him into the hole and start filling it up as well as tossing in some of the junk mail for filler. (Aha! - I incorrectly wrote “junk male” at first). It is close to the clothesline and I accidentally knock one orange t-shirt onto the ground so that it has to be washed again later. I am thinking the authorities might show up eventually - due to the massive explosion on the street - but by then, I will probably be finished and perhaps having dinner, though I am not sure the house could be “redone” by that point.

The orange t-shirt (and I notice others on the line) and the orange pennant up from the dog’s collar remind me of two things; the fact that my family (parents) lived near an orange grove and my father’s orange pennant (safety flag) on the back of a bicycle he rode (mostly when carrying something across the back baskets - I think this was a legal requirement).

In the last part of my dream, flowing into a hypnopompic state, I was hearing some truly horrible overly-modulated dubstep “music” and was getting the impression of a person marching through about four inches of mud, taking three or four of the same steps in time before each one forward. I am very annoyed and wake, working out that the “explosions” in my dream were caused by the Venetian blinds slapping against the window frame. (This is the second dream that was seemingly influenced by this.)

UPDATE: I am tentatively marking this as precognitive - because the imagery at one of the main points of more vivid perception turned out to be correct, except that the effect has been caused by tall growing grass coming out around the sides of the vehicle. There is no way we would have known that the neighbors would have left a vehicle like this for so long. Also, there has been some digging next door and an investigation by firemen (we had not called any authorities.)

Morning of January 31, 2014. Friday.



This is a long dream of flying. Hardly anything happens other than flying around over mostly a fairly barren area. There does not seem to be many buildings, yet there is supposedly a larger population. At times, I am wearing a rather loose-fitting Superman outfit but normal clothes at other times. Sometimes I have the cape, sometimes I do not. Most people either do not notice or seem a bit annoyed or frightened.

I go to a small school that looks much like the kind on an old television western such as “Gunsmoke”. The only other person in the building (a one-room school) is a man with a beard who seems to be a teacher. I tell him that “all other people can fly”. I say this a few times, but he does not quite seem to understand. I say this because I seem to be certain that other people can fly, but no one does but me, which seems a bit annoying. I insist that “all other people can fly” but he seems to deny it. Apparently I am the only one in my dream (at the time) that can.

I fly around and notice there are no buildings at all in some areas. The people all seem like pilgrims at this point. I land in the middle of a long featureless road and someone calls me “Kal-El”. Not much happens. The people sort of seem like they are from the 1600s or earlier, but only at times. They are friendly for the most part when I am standing on the ground. They do not seem to have any cars or any kind of technology for the most part. The higher I am, the faster I fly. The lower I go, the slower.

Morning of January 31, 2014. Friday.

Dream #: 17,210-01. Reading time: 1 min 20 sec.



I am in the “last cave,” the last form of existence bordering the world. I approach the wall to perhaps move on to “higher” awareness. There is a purple glow from the cave wall, a circle around the letter “M,” and two back to back instances of the letter “L” (representing our last names), which is also an upside-down “T.” It burns for a time, a “cool” fire. It also seems like an elevator button at the same time it is a lock (that I have a key for). (“M” can also represent an upside-down “W,” depending on the font or style.)

“M” is Virgo, the 6th (Yin) sign and 13th letter, Zsuzsanna born on the 13th and a Virgo. The upside-down “T” is Sagittarius (me), the 9th (Yang) sign and my birth on the 20th (T being the 20th letter). It is within the circle often reserved for the S and C (our first names when anglicized) or 6 and 9 of Yin Yang. No faux system (such as astrology) means anything, yet can form patterns to discern personal recognition.

“M” also came from the symbol for “water.”

“T” is the second (2 again) most common letter in English (after “E”). It is also the last letter of the Western Semitic and Hebrew alphabets..

T over M - “cross over the water,” a play on going to Australia to marry my twin flame Zsuzsanna

It represents TWO, approaching entropy of the English language (a coincidental letter pattern that spells “two”). The “W” (or “M”) splits into two instances of the letter “V,” the Gate itself, the Master number 22, and the bottom half of the Heart (in continuous cycles, also face to face twos). Even my last name means “the two.”

It is layer upon layer, and all the strength of every member of the human race cannot move or change it.

I am unsure where I will go. It is a phasing point that allows access to higher dimensions of any range.

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Morning of January 30, 2014. Thursday.



This dream is mostly uneventful but of some of the same nuances common to all dreams linked to certain types of long-term meditation. For some reason, whenever I use phrasing that relates to “universal” or various forms of happiness or health, I dream vividly about wrapped presents, often Christmas. In this case, though, I believe it is our oldest daughter’s birthday, yet somehow seemingly several years ago - and yet I also see a lot of Christmas decorations and sparkling wreaths (her birthday is nowhere near Christmas, though). There is an idea that we could share the birthday celebrations with my sister Marilyn in America (who has cancer now), but I am wondering about how much time would be involved. It is almost as if I am contemplating whether this is an “instantaneous” potential (in just suddenly going to America with everything in a matter of seconds) or somehow in “real time”, which would take days or weeks to plan and do (although I am not quite aware it is a dream). There are lots of wrapped presents in a few locations.

Later, the landlord shows up (regarding something relating to the grass and the lack of rain and such) and talks awhile in the kitchen, and after this, there are missing floorboards which I am concerned that our younger daughter may get too close to. There seem to be some subtle “practice scenes” at another level where she does fall through (but is uninjured), but not in more clearer dream time. In real life, it would be only a short fall if the boards were missing.

In my dream, there is some sort of strange series of conversations about letters written to my wife from a friend or business associate from the cat club from Maryborough. One scene (relating to the apparent disapproval of the friend or business associate) relates to how we did not date according to western ideas or so-called standards, which is not an issue with us as neither of us are mainstream and are not involved in mainstream culture other than my extensive teaching work which, however, never links to anything “fringe”-related (although I do warn my own children about New Age beliefs, pseudo-science, false systems, and virtually endless Doomsday propaganda which seem to be overwhelming these days, even now in 2014). Still, there is some sort of annoyance regarding different letters of how this or that “was not like the west” or something along those lines.

Apparently, though, I later slipped into a really strange state in the morning. My wife told me I was talking on and on (in my sleep) about the “letters not coming out in order” or some such, something about the alphabet and other patterns. What I remember is that the entire right side of the room seemed to be linked to some sort of accordion-bellows-like construct of alternating white and black waves of some sort (not sound - something else relating to a higher dimension). It was sort of tiring in trying to calculate something in my sleep and I had several false awakenings. I could not quite get my mind working relating to this “object” or “door”; area is one plane (at a time) only - in squared units, volume can only be realistically linked to three dimensions (in cubed units), not more, at least due to supposed morphing from a three-dimensional perspective in viewing a higher dimension - although you could get partial volume, I think, just as with surface area of sides of three-dimensional solids giving you some relevant data. Still, the black and white seemed “even” as if it was meant to be a starting point for more complex patterns, perhaps. Perhaps it had something to do with “folding space”, which seems a fair bet. I am getting frustrated trying to work out what the net (geometry meaning) would appear as or look like, along with other connections to whatever abstract nonsense is occurring.

Or maybe it was just some sort of surreal distortion of Venetian blinds and the highly irritating noise they make when slapping against the window frame every few minutes when a breeze picks up - when I am sleeping or trying to…Perhaps I am trying to calculate how to obliterate them completely…

Morning of January 30, 2014. Thursday.



I am in an unknown theater. There is a repeat of this dream with slightly different orientation but most of the same scenes. My wife is there, but only shows up a bit later on in one version. The unusual nature of this one (which I do not recall having before) is that she asks if the movie is still visible from the seats we end up sitting in. I tell her “yes”, but the really strange part is - I expect to “watch the movie” along the side of the chairs, on the arm of the chairs, to my left, rather than the screen. This makes very little sense, yet seems to be normal within the scenario. Also, a female entity had been present in the row behind us. I do not approach her or speak to her. She almost seems like a different version of my wife in the sense of a “higher” form. (My wife is the only real person - as far as I know - who has ever appeared in dreams in any “higher” way, several times as a “goddess”. The “other” had appeared with the blue flame around her, but usually not in a more powerful sense of actual interaction.)

Later, it does not seem to be a movie we are at but some sort of stage show using advanced optical effects and other tricks. The stage itself seems to show a “miniature giant”, that is - a scene representing a giant interacting with an elf or some such, but with both being normal-sized people being projected (some sort of mirror trick) into the setup from elsewhere. The “giant” is not even a foot tall. I seem to be there to help, but place a part of the stage in the wrong area for a short time so that only part of the people are visible for a time. It is unusual, as the actors seem to actually be there in that small size (but I know it is an optics trick). The “play” had something to do with the old Sinbad movies.

This relates to a sort of childhood nostalgia at a very deep level, a combination of “The Ed Sullivan Show” with Topo Gigio (the mouse puppet) and the introductory scene of the eohippus from “The Valley of Gwangi”. It is an elusive reckoning and “hidden” composite memory - a sort of unraveling of associations. Both represent a small, mythical (although the eohippus existed in prehistory) creature (seemingly) tentatively coming out to be with the “giant” humans. A sort of subtle magic mixing reality with altered form and movement. Both also had their own very little “house” that they lived in when they were not a spectacle for the humans. On a very subtle but meticulous note, there was a vague link to a new drink I tried in real life called “Shasta Fiesta Punch” (this is the first time I have seen Shasta available in Australia - at least in this region). Shasta is the character from “The Horse and His Boy” (relating to the eohippus) and there is also “La Fiesta del Topo Gigio” (the mouse). This rather vague synchronicity is near-invisible, but it is there. However, it still begs the “Which came first?” question. Did I select that particular Shasta flavor because of some vague hidden memory, or was the dream already formed for the evening for the most part? No way of really knowing - but I do know my “stunned” childlike enjoyment of the eohippus scene probably manifested from my unaware association with Topo Gigio. In fact, doing research, I have seen the male observers at one point, were in the exact same stance, leaning slightly to the left with right fist on hip.

The other dream involved being a teenager living in Cubitis yet again. My brother Jim (deceased) is there. He seems cheerful. I am cleaning my room and putting furniture exactly in its place and putting things in order, but somehow the room seems much bigger, although in after-thought, it was actually the correct size (as in reality).

I note that the grass, for about five feet from the highway (there is no traffic), is completely dead and even waxy as if supposedly (by whatever implied “science” this dream is using) from some sort of extreme heat and curling about in complex patterns (yet seems longer and somehow more “vibrant” than the rest of the lawn). The rest of the lawn is also dead and brown and yellow, but without the ominous waxy sheen and a bit shorter. This seems to imply that the Earth has gotten too close to the sun. I notice that all of the houses on the opposite side of the road (from the one just south of the S family house) are gone and with no trace of human habitation or presence. I get a vague impression that we should not be living there, but we decide to risk it. This is likely from something I have read a few times about how a lot of areas people presently live will be uninhabitable. It really is not that logical, though. Why get rid of cement-block shelters in such conditions even if people did not actually live there?

In one other longer, convoluted dream, there is not much of a plot, I do not think. I know there was something about a rope “ring” or something in the middle of a large but open “room” (relating to a support post, possibly) in or near a different building, seemingly west of the home of a heavy-set man with a large family (including a lot of older relatives). There is some talk about this “ring”, which may be used to tie horses to, or perhaps something else - there is talk about its length and such. It does seem to be a composite area, borrowing from a room from my sister’s house but shifting it into a neighbor’s backyard somewhat. I know there was also a scene where I was carrying a matte-black revolver around (but not snub-nosed). I am fairly sure it was a Smith & Wesson 17-8 .22 which I have never owned or handled to my memory.

Morning of January 29, 2014. Wednesday.



It seems we are living in one of our old apartments, on Duffy Street in Bundaberg, but it is much bigger. There is one part where it seems that there are several doors on the way to our carport area. Someone had left some doors open and I am somewhat annoyed. The neighbor’s truck seems to be in our carport. It is supposedly cool in my dream, and I am somewhat concerned with wintry winds entering our place even though it is very hot here in real life.

Later, I have a portable nuclear missile launcher near the kitchen area. I do not know how this came about. Apparently I had placed it in a baby stroller and carted it home. Perhaps I thought it was an old air conditioner (or heater?) a business had set out in the alley for cleanup removal. It looks like a large square commercial humidifier yet is somehow armed with at least two missiles (or perhaps even four). I do not consider how absurd it would be for a nuclear missile to somehow fit inside a humidifier. I find myself with ideas on launching an attack on the other side of the world from the convenience of my home, perhaps three or four different main locations, if possible, to eliminate the most people.

I am not even sure why this decision has been reached, but it is partly because of bringing down the population, I think, for the benefit of all, but especially for the benefit of my descendents and certain “unspoiled” regions. It is not very logical, as such weapons destroy natural resources as well.

I set up the launch with some sort of small control pad that is separate and attached to the larger machine with a few wires. I watch something on a television screen, but am not sure if it is directly related to the missile launcher, but it is supposedly a targeted area, seemingly a Comic-Con event with William Shatner as the main speaker. There may be something about him running for office as well or at least something related to politics. (This is perhaps from posts relating to William Shatner in my Facebook news feed over the last few days in real life.)

Eventually I realize that it would probably not be a good idea to launch the missiles and kill millions of people.

However, this is only because I do not want holes in our ceiling and roof of our apartment (as my perspective grows in lucidity though I am not fully lucid), which might be pricey to repair as well as possibly cause water damage in our place if it rains, so I begin to shut down the launch sequence after making a mental note of it. At this point, it is very vivid (but not in full acknowledgment I am in a dream - otherwise I would likely have launched them just to see what would happen) and I puzzle somewhat over the idea of how missiles would otherwise go up and through the ceiling without incident. It does seem that they could at first, but there is a strange ambiguity in trying to work out the nature of the setting.

---

Morning of January 29, 2014. Wednesday. [Dual narrative format utilized Saturday, 29 July 2017.]



[Through the haze of sleep, random thoughts of the 1959 Japanese movie “The Manster” activate for no particular reason.]

My dream has a fictional backstory in which I am a military convict though I am not me but with a different role and a different past. I seem to be with a group of fellow escapees.

[Does a dream of “being someone else” really have any meaning? Or maybe it is moot, as the dream self is, by its very nature, not the conscious self. Does an actor only choose roles which are true to their nature and are exactly like them? No.]

I eventually decide to go off on my own after the rest of them choose to hide in a building that is not very easy to hide in in my opinion. They plan to stay for a week or two. They may stay within rooms that are accessed via other rooms that are somewhat difficult to go through. However, the authorities are already nearby in the same area, not even a full block away. This makes me wary of their choice to stay here.

[Dream characters are fickle. What is there even to hide from in a dream? The preconscious is sometimes a nuisance of course, especially in the last dream of a sleeping period, but then, waking is a biological necessity. No one should fear neural patterns that activate throughout the sleep cycle. No one should run from The Waker.]

The other prisoners think that I am wrong in leaving the building, because I would be more in the open, but it really does not seem problematic to me as such. I run near an area with mostly tall grass and railroad tracks as well as within residential areas. I only see two police cars and a few military vehicles going the opposite direction that I am. I mainly seem to be going north and northeast.

[I have freedom within my dream, as well as infinite potential. I am of my own mind. How could I not be free?]

There is the cliché of taking a role onstage, pretending to be a part of the play while I am being looked for, and in this case I am not discovered. The other actors do not seem to care about my intrusion.

[A reinduction factor activates as I think of my unconscious mind as being “underground” or “below”. It is there I can be “lower” in my dream state and “farther” from The Waker aka the preconscious.]

My situation partly resets and repeats as I end up going into an underground area, but which turns out to be some sort of clothing store where I end up in a fashion show preparation, pretending to be one of the male models. In fact, an unknown female seems to think I am the main model to be in the show. Even so, most of the other models do not even show up.

[This is interesting but one cannot hide from the dynamics of their conscious self forever, especially after enough physical vitality is reattained. Regardless of how opportunistic real life may be, the fictional dream self can be very stubborn in avoiding its natural fate of cessation.]

I choose to go into an unlocked house from an alley. This unfamiliar house is semi-dark inside. Suddenly, a younger version of my wife Zsuzsanna appears. I soon appear to be on a large bed (the head of it to the north) trying to work out what direction to go from here. Still, something seems different about the nature of who I am.

[Many threads of my conscious self have activated. I am no longer in my dream self’s original role. I start to remember my years of happiness with Zsuzsanna. The preconscious must be lurking nearby. The bed is present and reminding me I must have been sleeping all this time.]

I have strange sensations in my body, oriented somewhat to my left side. It is not like any form of physical hypnopompia that I can remember experiencing before. I hold onto Zsuzsanna and we start indulging in passion.

[Where is the preconscious? It is a mystery - or maybe he or she is gone since I have accepted that my real physical body is in bed asleep.]

A military convict, one of the men from the first part of my dream, emerges from my body from my left side. It is like the climatic scene from “The Manster”. We are now two people. The other male looks at me in a very puzzled manner. Zsuzsanna seemingly makes sounds like a panther, growling and hissing, though it is more as if these are sounds from elsewhere, perhaps from a real panther that remains unseen. Still, the other male has had enough and runs off. He does not need to wake me as I am already waking. I have a pleasurable feeling.

---

Morning of January 28, 2014. Tuesday.



In my dream this evening during a nap, I was looking at a dream journal site (not that common an event - I had only been vaguely thinking about the site). It becomes a standard to post dreams in a combination of actual photographs and pictures of a dream entry written out on something. In my case, I had posted the photograph of a very large cardboard poster near a fence (seemingly on a distorted version of our last home on Barolin Street) with a few miscellaneous items in the front yard, including a tricycle and an American football and some other items. I remember almost all of the “dream within a dream” in what was written, but quickly forgot it all upon waking (in the past, I had read entire novels in a few of my dream states, which is extremely uncomfortable - usually the repeat of a novel I had read in real life, but usually with a lot of additional distorted scenes).

In an “additional notes” area (in the “actual” photo of the cardboard poster that my dream is written on in large enough letters to read when on the web page) there is mention of a girl named Angélique in our family - with a note on the acute accent on the first letter “e” as if it had special significance in my dream (that is, the implied documented dream within this dream). After this, a poster from the “actual” dream journal site makes comments relating to her own dream, which I also cannot remember. I know there was something about “being a portal” and something about “lu” combined with another syllable or word.

The play on two meanings for “poster” is curious in this dream.

Morning of January 28, 2014. Tuesday.

Dream #: 17,207-02. Reading time (optimized): 2 min. Readability score: 70.



There are typical composites in my dream, including the ditch of the north area of the Cubitis backyard. There is a fictitious house where the railroad tracks were in reality (where there is now a highway). There is a typical intruder (trespasser) scenario with unknown young females.

In a later segment, Zsuzsanna and I own a restaurant in an unknown area that is otherwise reminiscent of the east corner of Stadcor Street and Hamilton Road in Wavell Heights. We also own a cinder block house on the other side of the restaurant’s parking lot.

We are going to live in our restaurant as if it was our residence. Both buildings are one-storey and about the same size. They are the only buildings in that half of the street. The rest of the lots (to the north) contain trees. In correlating the imaginary area with a map, the restaurant is south-most on the corner. North of it (assuming Stadcor Street) is the parking lot, then the house, then the trees.

Behind the restaurant, the parking lot, and the house seems to be a high hedge (and more trees beyond) that join with the trees in the middle area of the street. An L-shaped hedge borders the south side and part of the front of the restaurant. Beyond is a road with much more traffic. It runs east and west, modeling Hamilton Road. There are at least three high stacks of used automobile tires on the opposite side of the street from the front of the restaurant. I am unsure how we came to own all this property.

After going into the restaurant with Zsuzsanna to check it out, I see that it is mostly empty (other than having a few picnic tables for customers). There are no curtains on any of the many large windows that mostly face the north and west. I think that the first thing to do is to put up curtains and then move in our furniture and later, possessions. I remain unsure about the status of having restaurant supplies.

Two annoying unfamiliar women come in thinking our restaurant is open. I get the impression that one of them had worked for the previous owner. One of them rudely sits on the countertop (the counter of which extends east through the middle of the building). I believe that they may be the same women from the earlier scene where they had two daughters, and they were all being intrusive in our other home, although mostly only in our yard.

I tell them that this will be our home, but then I think we may be living in the house near the parking lot, though I remain unsure. I absentmindedly sit atop a picnic table, but then I get down after realizing how obnoxious an act it is.

I remember a story in the newspaper (from real life) where a woman stalked and continuously threatened a teenage girl who had been sitting atop a picnic table at a park.

---

Morning of January 27, 2014. Monday.

Dream #: 17,206-03. Reading time (optimized): 3 min.



I am in the distant future and about eighteen years old. I am in a control station where men are performing maintenance. The underground chamber is dark. There are three sets of tracks that interlink, in an arrangement of one above the other in some areas so that a train may be very close when passing in either direction above or below another. It is a bookcase-like framework. Groups of men cooperate to guide a big fire hose and are watering down sections of the track after some trains pass so that they do not overheat. I see steam everywhere. There is noise, and it is hard work. The population is dense, so underground trains must move across a big complex grid of tracks of at least three tiers. (Some of this was influenced by “The Bloodhouse,” a 23-minute documentary, about a week ago, about where my wife was born in Port Kembla, a town of surreal industrialization.)

Trains would crash into each other unless a worker remains vigilant, using a control box on a large column. It is like the duty of an air traffic controller but a faster pace. There are about four pudgy men on a break before checking the condition of some older panels and equipment of lesser use. I wander into the area, saying I am only looking around and enjoy learning from places I have not yet been. I explain myself because an older man (of about sixty), whose name is George, asks me why I am “back with humans” again because he recognizes me from when he was much younger, yet I was of the same appearance then. My presence seems to annoy him. I like George, but I am apologetic that he does not seem to like beings who are “not human.” He was part of a group of adopted children from parents whom aliens had abducted, but the adoption agency never revealed the truth. After their parents were back on Earth, their children never learned of this. (“George” is a play on “György,” my wife’s father’s name).

Over time, I witness a derailing. People talk about how to avoid them (influence from “The Bloodhouse” video). I go to a group who are familiar with adoption coverups. Polish people were also abducted. I want to find out about George’s parents so he might have closure. I use a machine that is reminiscent of an old disused video game kiosk to insert a device that is like a CRT monitor (but lighter) into a hollow section. I enter access codes. The history of the world is available. There are scenes of dinosaurs and flying pterodactyls and later, prehistoric men in a later era. I tell someone about a species of dinosaur that could speak, comparable to parrots. There is an idea, featured as a cartoon of low quality that the first “dragon” was a pterodactyl. I lived during these times and have vague memories of my prehistoric past.

I am now near a frozen lake. Athletic females are ice-skating as part of the “Ice Capades.” There are small groups of spectators, one of old female hippies from Nimbin who have at least two mermaid dolls among them; one with a green scaly tail, the other with a purple scaly tail. A couple seems in a trance as they can barely move. I decide not to approach any of them. I slide around on the ice on my stomach, mentally propelling myself forward at a slow speed at times, enjoying the iciness for several minutes. I eventually conclude that it is not that interesting, so I get up to do something else.

Details about blue and brown eyes become a focus. It allows me to find George’s father, who supposedly had brown eyes. I gather documents to reveal the parents of all the adopted children. Even though the people are all old now, they will have closure. I get the impression that George’s parents are still alive, so he will finally get to know them.

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Dream signature: Vestibular system adaptation with vestibular cortex activity (railroad tracks above me), melatonin mediation (workers watering railroad tracks), preconscious mediation (talking with George), thinking skills and consciousness emerging (entering access codes), dream state sustained (frozen lake), contemplation of vestibular system correlation to increase awareness of physicality (watching ice skaters), contemplation of water reinduction with awareness the body does not move while sleeping (mermaid dolls), willing vestibular system correlation (sliding on ice), REM recognition (focus on eye dynamics). Waking contemplation (George “returning home”).

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Morning of January 26, 2014. Sunday.



This is an annoying dream based on too much time spent on one sound-engineering session. Normally, I notch out (or compress with polarity reversal with two “silent” matched tracks) the area 110 Hz (A) in a full percussion track (I also bring out 49 Hz (close to G) prior to that for the bottom of the track itself - some people use 50 (as well as much higher bottoms), but I like the matched tonality with a real implied note (many people could care less about tuned percussion or tonal bottoms - or in fact - as modern tracks prove - tuned anything - in fact, a standard in dance music is NOT to be in tune, even using the “detuning” function in VSTs - that is for people who like to use music as a “weapon” as they so often do these days). This allows more of the bass guitar (and low end keyboard in bass range). Sometimes I am meticulous and play around a bit too long. Taking out too much makes both the snare (bottom) and the kick (top) too light and may also create an effect that is too punchy and sparse in one range just above or below the 110 Hz peak. Messing about with sound waves is a very tricky business.

At any rate, I am buying groceries and other supplies. I take out my credit card which is supposedly a “110 Hz” credit card. The cashier says that they do not take that type of card and I am very annoyed, as that is mostly all I seem to have with me in my dream. I am not sure what to do. I am trying to remember if I have another card to pay and pay with a combination of my oldest son’s card and a few dollars and coins that I find in my wallet. I am not sure why they do not take the card - I sense the bank may actually have issues with the store, perhaps in their business practices, not sure.

I also have a recurring dream of trying to align two sound-waves (that are polar reversals of each other) before I can properly make love. This does not make that much sense, as the audio would vanish if they were perfectly aligned - I think it has more to do with enjoying the “hidden” ghosting frequencies of misalignment and probably the hidden side (mid-side decoding) “thrills” especially with the odd “breathing verb” effect of some side extractions, which I sometimes tend to prefer in modern music over the actual intended tracks (depending on the level of out-of-phase artifacts in lower quality MP3s, of course, which is often too much to take).

All of the information the government has been keeping on various people as well as other information (in the United States for the most part) about the government itself and its stealthy activities as well somehow accidentally ends up in full in various sources including the Internet, magazines, and generic newspaper advertisements. This is based only on one or two errors made by government, I think. I get an impression of being back in seventh grade at one point.

In the dream, I had carried a snub-nosed revolver everywhere (including in middle school). There is a point where, even though I am at the entrance to the middle school, there are a lot of people walking about, mostly older women, as if it was a shopping mall. I tell them about the disclosure that is occurring. I decide it is best to avoid people during the time they are learning the truth about their government - things which I apparently knew all my life. Somehow, I eventually have a flintlock pistol which is only a type of large cap gun or replica (with the barrel completely evenly sealed over in the front with black metal or plastic painted a metallic black). It is some sort of composite real-life memory of a real matte-black snub-nosed revolver, a silver six shooter revolver (I used mostly blanks in it and eventually ruined it - I think the blank caliber was too big or simply unsuitable or perhaps too cheap) and a flintlock cap pistol I had when younger. I am aware that the simulated "wooden" handle of the flintlock is actually only plastic and have a vague lucidity that I want it to be real wood as if I could force other people to see it as real wood (even though I am not fully lucid - otherwise I would just will it to become real wood). I am also trying to present it as a real gun on a special day when everyone is allowed to bring his firearms to school (including rifles) so that people can share information. It is fairly large for a flintlock and the teacher, thinking it is real, enjoys the balance and weight of it.

My sister M_ is in the dream, talking about the riddles and short jokes, one each on the back of a cap, which appears in the form of a large sheet (like postage stamps) rather than a roll, so that they have to be torn off to use individually. She is saying how she does not understand any of the jokes or riddles and gives a few examples (which I cannot quite remember). I make fun of them as well and tell two supposed riddles, but by example (in the dream) only. I say, "why is a cat like a match" with the answer being "they both scratch" (which is not really funny to me) and "why did the cat not use the match" with the answer being "because it's a cat" (which makes even less sense). My sister seems fairly healthy and alert in the dream.

I am playing around with the large cap pistol flintlock by stacking about four or five caps directly under the hammer with a few attached to the ones in the stack. When I pull the trigger, the whole top of the gun catches on fire, partly caused by some burning of the additional caps partly hanging down the side, but I blow it out fairly easily. It seems amusing and I realize no stack of caps would be high enough to really do much.

Morning of January 25, 2014. Saturday.



This is a bit unusual and has yet another celebrity, in this case, one that has not really crossed my mind in years. I am in Cubitis yet it also has features of our Wavell Heights home in Brisbane. The Carpenters are visiting. Karen Carpenter is on the floor to my left in somewhat of an informal meditation position. My second-youngest son is in an arm chair to my right and I am sitting between them on a chair similar to my real-life computer desk chair. Richard Carpenter is on the far side of the room to my right, near the windows. Other members of my family are in the house and I think two others in the same room.

I am working on some sort of machine that is apparently a sort of Etch-a-Sketch (slightly smaller, I think) but like a real-life VST or iPad variation or a special iPad with VST ROM (I have no interest in iPads). Over time, it shows a sort of implied concentric figure eight set, but offset or diagonal (to the upper right), but eventually it is seemingly made of a continuous spiral at one point that turns back at each arc somewhat like a maze of one continuous wider line to make the seeming number eight, but of which is slightly squarish.

My son is working on building a computer, it seems, and he gives Karen a CPU. Later, she hands it (or a different one) back to him and I am very annoyed that she almost scratches me with it. Plus, I am irritated that it was passed over me from the floor as I am trying to work at something. I express my anger at her and she gets up immediately and they both (her and Richard, who is 67 but very young in my dream) leave via the front door. I am thinking that it is probably not a good idea to make celebrities angry (which does not really make any sense, as I do not really care what people believe, especially celebrities, who often use their status to promote nonsensical ideas).

In a very short time, Karen comes back in and apologizes to me (or it is more like the scene suddenly jumps to this point with only a vague awareness of her coming back in through the front door), standing on my left. By that time, the “Etch-a-Sketch” VST/music device is making somewhat of a continuous annoying sound that sounds a bit like “grup grup grup” in the voice of a younger female. It could be either “grump” or “grub”, I suppose. It is so loud and annoying and probably not useful for a music track, it wakes me up and I feel a bit overheated.

This seems mostly based on being meticulous in my second-youngest-son’s eating habits, where I would like him to eat a greater variety of foods as he is a very fussy preference-oriented eater. The CPU is a play on “chip”, chicken chips being what he always wants to eat when everyone else is having something else - although he does eat other foods during these times. Karen died of anorexia nervosa which I see as not getting enough protein (or food in general, which is not really a problem for us in real life) but she also apologized for some reason (probably for handing him another “chip” when he could be “eating” - or “working with” something else). The grump/grub play probably means that I am being grumpy (or too meticulous) about his eating habits, as he is healthy otherwise.