Blue_Opossum

Morning of January 25, 2014. Saturday.



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 my 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 Marilyn is in my 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 my 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 my 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 23, 2014. Thursday.



This dream starts out in the small front room (left-side of front door) of my sister’s house on Loomis Street (on a side note, my vivid dream about her health I posted previously - though with no real-life knowledge of such, turned out to have a few layers of precise precognition - unfortunately). I am not fully lucid. I am however, aware that I can manifest things somehow even though I am not aware it is only the “dream world”.

Instead of an additional notes on the layered precognitive dream about Texas, I will include it here. In real life, my sister was just diagnosed with lung cancer and liver cancer - I had known nothing about this until I was contacted just over a week ago. My dream “Texas winter wonderland and ‘dying’ relative” was dated December 29, 2013. This dream had several precise layers of precognition, a couple immediate, the sister issue less than a month. The “wife’s younger step father” actually turned out to be my wife’s younger half-brother (who bears a striking resemblance to a younger version of his father). This represented how he was in a state of “recovery” from his abusive criminally insane mother and I saw him in real life for the first time in years later that same day. In fact, without even thinking about it (since various types of precognition is so normal for me), I had posted an additional entry on one site where I mentioned meeting him after the previous dream (without making the obvious connection). I still have not met my wife’s step father, and her half-brother in real life looked exactly like the younger male in my dream in manner and expression.

My sister, however, was beginning to experience the pain of cancer (she did not know she had it) on that date (and for some reason, did not get it checked out in time - she is in the hospital now). Again, there was the unusual Texas winter in real life that I did not know about. The unknown woman in that dream (who I thought my sister had changed into) was actually someone I did not know who had been helping her. Almost everything in my dream was of composite precognition - which is often the case on a day to day basis, but usually too personally irrelevant or trivial to write about much.

In the first part of this entry’s dream, I want to take a photograph of my “dream” even though I am not lucid. In other words, I am dreaming that I am having a dream while “awake” in my dream. This seems a bit strange, but this is how it is. My sister is there, but appearing to be a bit better after her husband goes and gets her with regards to the camera. (In real life, after I was told of her condition, she did drastically improve according to a message from a friend of hers - so an earlier dream where she was in the hospital but doing a lot better also turned out to be somewhat precognitive - in that dream, my wife and I were there and our youngest daughter was sitting on the bed with her - however, in all honesty, the cancer is pretty bad). At any rate, I deliberately (mentally) create large click beetles that form on the wall. The click beetle represents a person (or “normal” mainstream people in general) “bugging” me with their ideas, since click beetles bite the lip of a sleeping person. However, these click beetles may not be able to be photographed, as they are mental creations of a dream within my dream. There is also an obvious play on the click of the camera as I hear the “click” when I take the pictures. To my surprise, the click beetles show up in the photographs.

A few other people come into my dream and I am in a different (larger) room. An unknown older male tries to do the same thing I had done, but the beetle becomes “too big” and then flies around the room and chases him as he screams.

Later, I am somehow immediately in the backyard of our present home. It seems really late at night. A group of men, about seven or more, are walking in a drunken manner down the street from the north on the opposite side from our house. (This of course, happens fairly often in real life). My youngest son is awake and also in the backyard. The men walk along singing some sort of song as drunks often do in the middle of the night. As they are approaching, I float into the air and somehow “walk” on the thin metal clothesline to get a better look at them (to see past the higher fence-line). I become aware that their walking is somewhat marionette-like, reminding me a little of Pinocchio.

They get closer and closer. I sense they are college students, or more specifically, college (American) football students(?) - not sure from where. As they get closer, crossing the street to our side, I then walk along the fence like a cat would do (of course, which would be physically impossible for a person). They say hello to me and wave and are a bit rowdy and annoying. One starts talking about various things, including feuds with people that are trying to sleep and acting as if the streets are theirs to do whatever they want on - including yelling gibberish and random unrelated names at people they cannot even see. His nose starts to get a bit bigger when he speaks. (This “nose growing” might seem like a phallic symbol to some, but that does not make any sense in light of the events and associations). The others do not seem to notice. In fact, every time one of them speaks, their nose grows a bit. This means that they are not capable of speaking without distorting the truth. One comes closer to the fence, and, while I am hovering slightly above him in midair, I punch him in the face. He starts complaining about me confronting his useless foolishness and begins creating an immediate “revisionist history” of my life’s path. His nose then grows so large, it is at least two feet long and covering his entire face so not even his eyes are visible, the weight actually preventing him from getting up until his friends help him up and then have to guide him, as his nose is so big, he can no longer see where he is going.

They continue southward, but turn down the alleyway near the apartments, and I see lights come on in the apartments from people annoyed by their antics.

Drunkenness in dreams is seemingly my mind’s way of internally showing how such people are in a sort of “limbo” (an intermediate place or state relating to a mismatch of the liminal “gates” and not correctly “phasing” to either one or the other - that is physical reality or deeper, meaningful dreaming) and can neither discern waking reality or dream representations of anything, so are useful at neither.

There was a precognitive layer in this dream as well. Just now (in real life), a young drunk pulled a board off our fence. He mostly was in the middle of the road using it to hit cars. Three others were walking down the street and he threatened them. He was fighting a bit with all three and then he fell backwards. Eventually, two police officers arrived but they just let him yell, dance around, and swing the board at them without doing anything. (They were very cautious in going near him.) I cannot say I have seen police behave that way before. At any rate, a police van came and I guess he went in on his own. Nothing like this has happened before in real life at this address.

Before I get into the most recent dream, see the link of the older childhood dream from Wednesday, 22 January 1969 below unless you read that one first. (link).

There is a lot left out of the man online summary (including several important details), but anything I decide to include, I will do after the next section.

Dream of Wednesday, 22 January 2014.

I am on a dock in late morning. The weather is good and the water is calm. I am not sure of the region or even if the dock is near a lake or the ocean. My dream is extremely vivid, though. There are six wooden posts that hold the dock, three on each side. The dock is in good condition (for example, no rotting boards or potential hazards). The only other person on the dock (or in my dream) is a girl about five feet away at first, facing me, but she walks closer and then turns as if waiting for me to speak. She is wearing a beautiful red sequin dress, which goes to her knees.

For a moment, I tend to think it is Brenda W, my female classmate (and verified archetype of my at-the-time unknown future wife), but then it dawns on me that I “may” be married. (Even though it is vivid, I am not fully lucid or fully aware of my present life, as is often the case.) I walk to her and she spins, becoming a miniature tornado or “dust devil” form. She does this off and on several times, and it is quite extraordinary and realistic in how I perceive it. I go to touch her arm and she does it several more times, sometimes even rising in the air about three feet and lowering again, going to different parts of the dock without actually walking (both closer to me and farther away). This, of course, is what the cartoon Tasmanian devil does (although I am not focused on that knowledge at all in my dream).

When she is the whirlwind, the sequins sparkle even more. At times, she seems slightly puzzled as if she thinks I am “slow” at understanding something, but does mostly smile the entire time and is completely non-threatening. Eventually we both go closer to the actual beach, but she finally rises up into the sky by the time I make contact with the ground at the end of the dock. I feel a very strong sense of bliss and love and familiarity, even though this is a completely new dream in one sense, or so it seems relative to memory and records. I myself was a whirlwind in dreams at times, but this is quite different in mood and the particular level of perception.

The meaning behind it all (these dreams were forty-five years apart!):

Important notes on dream of Wednesday, 22 January 1969:

Brenda would say “nine-thirteen” in my dreams at times (the total of which is twenty-two, the “master number” and sign of entropy), including this one in relationship to the clock on the wall in the semi-dark office. This is my wife’s birth-date (American form, as in Australia it would be written with the day first).

Brenda W was evading the Yin force (the “wild weasel”), because she was not the Yin force. My dream was seemingly informing me that Brenda was only an archetypical “stand-in” for my (unknown-at-the-time) future wife. The creature being at the door represented the “door” of the future, yet I was not ready to open it.

Brenda would say “nine-thirteen” in my dreams at times (the total of which is twenty-two), including this one in relationship to the clock on the wall in the semi-dark office. This is my wife’s birth-date (American form, as in Australia it would be written with the day first).

Additionally, in real life, Brenda had the purse with the metal clasp that was a skeletal clock with the writing “wait for me” on it (which appeared in my dreams a good number of times). Obviously, this was another clue that Brenda was a stand-in archetype until the real Yin was known. (There would not be a reason to “wait” for Brenda as she was always already with me when she carried that purse. In fact, I often pondered this fact in the back of my mind as a child.)

My dream’s business building was actually of the G. Heileman Brewing Company in La Crosse, which I dreamed of even when living in Florida (Brenda had never been to Wisconsin), and here, the events occur at night in a mostly empty building (after nine o'clock at night). In my young adult life years later…I actually worked there in maintenance and cleaning (precognition).

Other than cowering behind the left corner of the desk at one point (as the creature knocks against the door), we assume the divine marriage position (Brenda and I) which is sitting on our knees facing each other and clasping hands with forearms at about forty-five degrees, which is an implied superimposition at enhancing the “heart on the horizon” and the entropic portal (that is, entropy of the material world, but closeness to the “divine” - or oneness). However, this is interrupted by the true Yin force “knocking at the door” - or “beating at the door” as the “wild weasel”.

The Tasmanian devil (more specifically the cartoon character in my childhood) represents the Yin, the Virgo, and my wife of course, for a number of reason, too many to even get into here. Some basics: represents the southern hemisphere, more specifically Australia or Tasmania. The “dust devil used as a methods of transportation” for the cartoon character, or the whirlwind or “miniature tornado” is of course the Yin force (in this case, as I am Yang), the spiral of 6 (Virgo), negative implications regarding the Coriolis effect and storms turning in opposite direction in the northern and southern hemispheres

Funny additional notes:

“Believing it to be a type of opossum, naturalist George Harris wrote the first published description of the Tasmanian devil in 1807, naming it Didelphis ursina…” [Wikipedia]

“Wild Weasel is a code name given by the United States Armed Forces specifically the US Air Force to an aircraft, of any type, equipped with radar-seeking missiles and tasked with destroying the radars and SAM installations of enemy air defense systems.” [Wikipedia]

Important notes on dream of Wednesday, 22 January 2014:

Why a red sequin dress?

Sequins resemble fish scales here - the siren/mermaid theme (Jennie Haniver).

“The Lady In Red” by Chris de Burgh, one of my favorite songs after my marriage.

Wendy the Good Little Witch.

Going back to the old Pepsi logo as a symbol of Yin Yang, Yin is red, only as in my experience of the Blue Pearl.

The first time I saw a Tasmanian devil in real life was with my wife very shortly after we were married.

As on a calendar, both dreams were on the very significantly numbered day of twenty-two, and in the “middle” of the week - indicating balance-seeking.

Six posts represent Virgo (the sixth sign, here, as a “cute” play on actual “sign posts”) and Yin. (old yin or “yin changing into yang” is 6, old yang or “yang changing into yin” being 9). So six is Virgo, Yin, my wife. It also represents the six points of the Star of David and of course, much more (including the six letters in my first name in proportion to the nine letters in my wife’s first name - the true, non-anglicized form).

Why a dock?

Throughout my childhood, I had recurring dreams (and real-life periods) of standing on a dock as if waiting for someone from directly across the ocean, as well as dreams of attempting to get to her. Having done a lot of research and looking at angles and maps and such relative to where I was in Florida in these dreams, sometimes in El Jobean, sometimes other locations, I worked out I was directly facing (to the exact degree) where my wife was born in Port Kembla. Of course…she was doing the same thing, which shows in her poetry, even when very young.

This validates yet again that one of the main reasons for dreaming is to find and resolve (and after the marriage or partnering, continue to validate and reaffirm) the true partner (“twin flame”) of the self (either the Yang or the Yin).

The reason my understanding of where the dock was (lake or ocean) did not matter was because it had already been resolved - thus, could have been anywhere, as it has already come to pass in reality.

Why the puzzled look on Yin’s face at times and the on and off whirlwind transformations?

It dawns on me that, as I had learned to mentally control, fully, the so-called spinning girl illusion in real life (of which there is a lot of ridiculous controversy and primarily misinformation above all, from - well, to be honest - annoying simpletons), that Yin was “playing” with me; that is, in an endeavor to see if I could will her spinning direction to change in my dream as I am able to do with the so-called illusion in real life (assuming I could bring all the clues together). In other words, another dream character was not only trying to bring out my lucidity, but my enhanced conscious control as well, which I find intriguing. Yin going up into the sky can represent both higher spiritual existence, as well as waking up from sleep.

My wife thinks it might have been Lake Tahoe, even though she had never been there, as she said she was focused on this for some reason.

Morning of January 21, 2014. Tuesday.



I think I am in the same apartment as the manticore dream, but the layout is different and seemingly a bit bigger. Burl Ives is a chubby version of Sigmund Freud. Whatever next? Well, I guess this is my “celebrity year” after all. Somehow, though, he is also a Russian man named Ion Nocalov. None of this makes any sense, of course, but why should it? In my mind, I can easily see Sigmund Freud and Burl Ives as the “same person” for several reasons. Both are sort of a “doubting Thomas”. In the case of Burl Ives, he denied Magnus - but came to know the truth. In the case of Sigmund Freud, I can say with a good degree of certainty that I do not agree with a single thing he has ever written on anything. And as for Ion Nocalov…well…I do not know who that is. He seems to be getting ready to leave and has a cigar stuck in his face and is putting on a shabby burlap-bag-like coat over his pristine white suit. He pauses, looks at his waistcoat watch, and writes some notes on a yellow pad on his desk. I get the impression it is my desk and my apartment, and he seems to be imposing in astounding ways, but I do not say a word. For a moment, I hear ocean waves, so we may not be on Third Street in La Crosse, even though I am almost certain.

A fire nymph runs around the room. I am astounded. Burl does not notice. I point. He looks. She is gone - how annoying. After a time, I notice that there is a Scrabble tile holder on the desk, with Scrabble letters that spell out “Sigmund Fraud”. I am amused that Ion/Sigmund/Burl has not noticed this blatant error.

I put my hand into the fire upon the next appearance via the “abdomen”. It does not burn. Burl aka Ion is talking on the phone. He keeps saying “what?" I thought he had been responding to me as I am speaking but this is not the case. For a moment, I think he catches a glimpse of the girl of fire from the corner of his eye. "I’m calling the fire department,” he says loudly. I can hear the old-style rotary noises as if he is dialing about twenty numbers or more - which is quite ridiculous, as emergency numbers are of less digits, not a lot more.

The fire nymph grabs a TV remote and turns on a very large television. Assuming it is the La Crosse apartment, it is the southern wall. “My name is Mok, thanks a lot” sings an animated “Lou Reed” (I recall a precognitive dream of his death on October 27, 2013). I have not thought of this “song” at all in at least twenty years or more? IMDb reports it is from “Rock & Rule” from 1983. The IMDb plot summary (errors corrected) is “Angel, a member of a punk rock band in the apocalyptic future, is kidnapped by Mok, a legendary super-rocker. Obsessed with a dark experiment, Mok plans to use Angel’s voice to summon a demon from another dimension. The rest of the band follows Mok to Nuke York in an attempt to get her back.” (“Nuke York”? Oh brother.) I can honestly say that I saw this at least once over twenty years ago but have not thought about it at all since I saw it. In fact, I think I forgot all about it for the most part (except for that annoying “song”) an hour after I saw it.

“What’s this sh–?” asks Burl aka Sigmund aka Ion. “I don’t know,” I say with my jaw hanging open. “Mok doesn’t even rhyme with lot.”

“Well, that’s really stupid,” he replies, talking through his cigar, and turns off the television.

Suddenly, the west wall (an internal division) explodes outward and the fire girl is on a black horse, sort of swaying as if listening to a slower song, with the horse breathing misty tendrils. “F–k me!” says Burl. He sounds almost like plaster “speaking”…or what plaster would sound like if it could talk. There is a roaring and a “quivering” in the environment that is not quite right, like being inside of a can someone is shaking. “Dragon! Dragon!” he yells, leaving the room. “It’s not a dragon, it’s a horse,” I say calmly, but he is gone. I decide to risk it and walk into the imagery. It is almost like feeling my way around in a dark room as I am not oriented to the environment “correctly” somehow - more like the top part of my body and the lower part of my body are in two different frames of reference.

I find myself on the horse behind the nymph. We fly over pools of beautiful glowing lava and “lava falls”, forest fires, arctic regions, blizzards, the ocean, both stormy and calm, including the rolling waves at El Jobean, and lakes glowing orange from reflected sunlight as the sun is setting. It goes on and on. It reminds me vaguely of other dreams where there is a clear physical awareness, yet at the same time, the world is moving when the body is mostly in one point in space.

I am back at North Monroe street as a boy (Florida). It seems very odd to move about, taking longer to get somewhere with shorter legs. I look over the small stack of comic books on the tank in the bathroom. There was “The Cowsills”, the “Hot Stuff” one where he is shooting at a three-headed ogre (apple on each head?) with his trident, a Walt Disney one with Magica De Spell and something about hiding inside a brick fence or wall, I think, and a Bugs Bunny one with Daffy Duck.

My older brother Jim (deceased) is smiling and sitting on the couch along the south wall in the living room when I tell him of the great Russian psychologist, Ion Nocalov, who thought that all horses were dragons.

Then the dream changes a little as he tries to copy the name I say, acting as if it is a clever invention. “Vola Con Noi! We can fly!”

Added note: If it was not for this quite vivid dream, I would have surely lived the rest of my life without ever thinking of “Rock & Rule” again. Funny how things can be “hidden” like that, yet remembered to some extent with “cues”. This is actually one of the only movies presently that I had “forgotten” so much of this way in my lifetime. I wonder what that says about the movie.

The mashed up image is with other fairly recent entries, was going to use it in an additional notes entry, but will include it with this one.

Important additional note: One of the most absurd things I have ever read regarding Freud was how a particular person apparently did not have a “wish fulfillment” dream (according to that dreamer’s view) and this was determined by Freud to be a “wish fulfillment” dream anyway, because it was the “wish” of the dreamer to prove that not all dreams were wish fulfillment relative to Freud’s theory. This was so pathetic and absurd that it instantly (in my mind) demoted Sigmund Freud to the level of a cartoon character. It is probably one of the most absurd things I have read on dreams.

Morning of January 21, 2014. Tuesday.



I am on the second or third floor of a large old building, likely part residential and part commercial, seemingly on Third Street in La Crosse, the street (and seeing it from the same building) where, in 1991, a large group of teens turned over a police car and set it on fire after the Coon Creek Canoe Races. Over time, it seems much like my (half - on my mother’s side) brother Dennis’s old apartment, which I have not dreamt of that much (and presently have no online references to it yet). I am sitting at a desk near the window, which faces west. I seem to be working on some documentation of some kind, perhaps an educational report for state government (one is due soon in real life). I seem to be somewhat distracted, though, as if my mind is trying to clarify where I am, but in a very subtle way.

I hear about four teenage girls joking about on the street below. I think it is late afternoon. I look out and see they are looking up at “my” window. “Rasta rasta come out and play,” one says. None of them are familiar. “Oh no, he’s looking,” says one, running off but in a playful manner. (I am not Rastafarian, by the way - though I strongly relate to and understand the concepts of the “Babylonian system”, though older-style dub reggae is some of the only music I can truly get into other than styles my father performed as well as wrote.)

Over time, I hear them talking and apparently planning or plotting something, but I am not sure what to make of it. I do not think they are left-over spectators of the canoe races. They seem to be “fans” of some sort, though I cannot quite make the connections and am not sure of their intent. I sit with my chin resting on my left hand, thinking.

“Come on, I came all this way and you’re not coming down? What are you doing up there?” It seems one is a “leader” of sorts.

I look out again, and am almost hit with a small package tied with a large blue ribbon that comes through the open window and lands on the desk. I read some writing on the package that clearly says “Dread” (supposedly addressed to me) and part of a note that says “Dear Dread”, which is interesting as the two words have the same letters. I am vaguely aware that I have dreadlocks, but only in a very loose sense and only a bit in back (my wife usually combs this out in a personal screaming session when my hair is pulled). I am not sure what to do. I had been working on yet another new style of dub with special types of frequency bands, but have not finished anything yet, due to my overly meticulous associations so far this year - even with inaudible phasing - nuances I often think of that most people do not even know exist. Curiously, these girls seem to know about my special abilities regarding sound manipulation, which only a very small number of people apparently know about if the huge amount of misinformation (even from “experts”) on the Internet is anything to go by. Still, it is hard to believe anyone younger could respect or understand that area of knowledge, so I am somewhat suspicious of their motives. I am also somewhat annoyed by their seeming lack of self-control in public.

These thoughts pass through my mind, rather than anything relative to lucidity or even having fun of any kind. (I do not directly notice any musical instruments in the room - there is nothing studio-like about the room as it is more like a home business office.) I open the rest of the package and find that it is a larger hand puppet that is apparently a manticore, although its head is more lion-like at first. I notice that the letter has some rather unusual but precise anagrams of “manticore”. Looking at the list, I see:

Romance It!

Man erotic!

Cream into!

All of these being anagrams of “manticore” seriously puzzles me as if it was by design somehow, but almost as if everything that exists is a potential path to a different meaning. Another girl (possibly a version of my wife) who appears to be some sort of very shy “live-in secretary” is sitting at another desk near the middle of the room. I am thinking of going through business letters that I need to check, but my mind is wandering and thinking of inter-dimensional polarity reversal in “key” areas. It is as if I “almost” know how to open a gate or portal by inverting certain linear patterns so that others are then extant. I am trying to work out “zero pairs” into the concept and cannot quite get it, probably because I am thinking in fifth-dimensional ways, which is impossible to resolve. I am thinking of layered XOR functions (almost like a “she loves me, she loves me not” series, trying to work out if the end result will be a positive variable or a negative one), but then dismiss it, as the universe is not a computer, so that would not work.

I put the manticore hand puppet on my right arm and admire the highly detailed homemade handiwork. It is soft and velvety and looks as if it cost a lot of money in special or rare materials It also seems to have dreadlocks as a mane, but in a subtle way. I sense my wife as a shadow on the wall, but the “shadow” is white and somewhat glistening instead of black (recurring) - likely based on the concept of photographic negatives. She walks around “on” the wall (that is, a “shadow” without a visible source) and my mind starts wandering again in concepts of fractal geometry and what connects where and what “door” goes where. Meanwhile, I start to play around with the hand puppet, moving it a certain way, its lion face becomes more of a man’s face by some sort of rolling section of material. Moving its mouth by way of my hand motions inside the puppet, large rows of sharp “teeth” come out, resembling shark teeth - and I play about making its mouth open and close, watching the teeth sway about, which are a bit like plastic or real bone attached to the velvety material and row of silk to simulate the “lips”. I continue to look at the remarkable complexity of the puppet, still thinking of the skills it must have taken to make it, thinking that the girls may have good intentions and respect for me.

I decide to go downstairs, perhaps just to enjoy the outdoors or go for a walk. I put the puppet and letter on the desk. The cowardly lion from “The Wizard of Oz” touches my arm and says “D-D-Don’t go out there, d-duh, I wanna live, ehuh-ehuh…like dis…I don’t wanna see what’s out there”. I am annoyed by this “poor excuse for a lion/man” and say, slowly, going closer to his face, “Are you…supposed to be…Martha Washington?” and walk down the stairs. His sobbing becomes less audible behind me.

Four girls are on the staircase near the doorway. The main one says “My name is Micra. I’m the one who gave you the note.” (It dawns on me that “Micra note” is also an anagram of manticore.) “Hello Micra. Would you like to tell me what is going on?” She has orange “vibrating mirror” somewhat kaleidoscopic eyes (normally such eyes are more silvery and highly reflective in dreams). In fact, they all have orange eyes, and with the small black stripes of their irises, I am thinking of tigers, but not quite in a threatening way…Tangerine Dream has a song version of the poem, and it flows somewhere in the distance…

“Tiger, tiger, burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?”

She (the main “tiger girl”) touches my arm and fire emerges. The fire does not hurt, but I see my skin peel away, turning curly and black, flaking off, to reveal a bluish light underneath with differing “fibers” of darker and lighter. It reminds me vaguely of those “pills” that you light, and ash grows out swiftly, forming an “ash snake” - they used them for cheap Fourth of July celebrations going by various names, I think, such as “Magic Black Snake”, “Cobra”, and “Python” - not only that, dreadlocks remind me somewhat of these “Magic Black Snakes” and my own “hair” is transforming as such. Eventually I fly up into the air moving over the street watching them run and wave, looking up. The entire environment starts to resonate and cracks like ice, sizzling in vertical wave-like patterns into crumbs of concrete and destroyed buildings and streets - and four smaller lights fly away in different directions, the scene somewhat like stage curtains self-pulling apart to reveal what is really behind it all, and at the same time, being a giant manticore’s mouth opening up (but very spectral, almost ice-like in appearance) and “letting me out”. I am vaguely aware of the concept of the phoenix. The “comet rain” (yet another manticore anagram) spreads and becomes more pastel-like.

My new “bat wings” carry me into a realm of stationary lights, somewhat abstract.

I fade into the real morning. My wife moans next to me, complaining about the heat.

“Cremation” is also an anagram of manticore…

Additional layers of association: An old Tommy Cash record with the song “Free Man”, including lines such as “The king of the jungle is a lion, but you kill his freedom once he’s in a cage” and “If you only want a puppet then go buy one, if that’s how it is then I can’t stay”. Another song was “Four Strong Winds” with the line “You could join me if I’d send you down the fare”. This was our original plan but I moved to Australia.

The four girls are the “four strong winds” of freedom, perhaps Earth, Air, Fire, and Water as well.

An episode of “Grimm” called “The Good Soldier” (season 3, episode 11) features the manticore, which I not only did not know of prior to the dream, it has not aired here in Australia yet…we only just saw the last episode of season 2 - I will count that as precognition (or remote viewing?). It is one of the only newer shows we watch.

Morning of January 20, 2014. Monday.



I consider this dream somewhat precognitive, as I checked and found an enhanced version of the table of wavelengths I had been using until now which goes much higher and is far more viable to what I am presently working on (without needing a calculator).

This dream is primarily physical/sensual, so there is not much else regarding plot. However, it seemed to last for at least an hour or more. It is basically like a climax that stretches out over nearly an hour, but at a different level.

The main aspect is that my wife is touching me intimately and there are two specific frequencies that are reaching me in a “perfect” way. They have nothing to do with an actual reason of any kind, but relate oddly to some recent work I was doing in sound manipulation.

I am aware of the main frequency reaching me through a certain area, which turns out to be 7,902.132 Hz. The other is 987.767 Hz. There is no logical reason for this, it just turns out that way in my dream. Both represent a “B” note. (Fifth and eighth octaves under the C = 16.351 Hz = 0 octave table).

Again, there is no logical reasoning to this other than being relative to the expansion of waveforms I had been doing which involves a special “trick” of polar inversion (mutual silence - which is sort of like how the higher dimensions work) and then opening up expansion points to solely bring out intended ranges in the waveform, which can be used to isolate frequency bands or particular instrument nuances (even a single guitar string in a chord if you are so inclined) in a recording or “remake” something in a different tonal range to fit another recording. All in all, this was a very blissful experience.

Morning of January 19, 2014. Sunday.



I am about fourteen. School has just let out for the day at a variation of 20 Copeland Avenue in La Crosse, with our school as the Spencer building. The surrounding area is not as it is in real life. Zsuzsanna is near my age in my dream though had been in different classes. I approach her and ask if I can walk her home. I consider her extraordinary beauty. Amusingly, I stutter and seem shy in asking (not at all a conscious self attribute). She is wearing denim shorts and a dark blue top and carrying about three textbooks and a small notebook at her side in her right arm. It takes a few attempts before I make my intent known. Her friend, an unfamiliar girl, is amused and goes her own way, and I walk with Zsuzsanna for the two or three blocks she lives from our school. We walk south as I remain on her right, wearing mostly black, gray, and dark blue, with an open black lightweight trenchcoat. My dream implies that we had never met before this, yet she is my ideal female and I consider that no one else could come close to her essence.

She is living in a white one-storey cinderblock house on a northwest corner of a suburban block (two blocks south of our school and one block east) with her father and two younger brothers of about two years apart in age. Curiously, he seems Caucasian, about thirty, and does not have an accent, which I find puzzling. (I had spoken with her father in real life on the telephone, but never met him). He has a mustache and is wearing a tank top and blue jeans. He sits in a white armchair, facing south and watching television with a can of beer or soda in his left hand, west of where I spend the most time in the room. He is watching “Hair”, though dubbed in Hungarian (which I had joked with Zsuzsanna in real life in it being the only version I saw listed on YouTube). The two boys are playing on the floor. The “father” looks at my unusual clothes and asks me if I am supposed to be some kind of magician or witch and asks me what I can do. I tell him that I mostly consider myself to be a sorcerer.

I hold up my right hand (forearm out but at about forty-five degrees upward or less), palm up, and a loud sizzling comes out as a flame flows from my palm and into the air with a sort of muffled light explosion, and for a moment, a separate higher column of heat and fire is there, which fades fairly quickly. An additional small flame dances in the air, doing figure eights and spinning before dissipating. I do this four times, creating a tiny (hummingbird-sized) “fire girl” that does a few pirouettes in the air. He seems impressed but not alarmed in any way.

I look around and notice that the room is messy. There is a broken glass on the floor near one wall, and miscellaneous books, clothes, opened mail, and toys. I take Zsuzsanna flying for a short time, staying in the neighborhood. The front door is open, so we fly out (and return) through it. I ask her father if I can come by on a regular basis and he seems okay with the idea. However, after leaving on my own, while above the sidewalk about half a block away, I can hear him, with my enhanced hearing, asking his sons to look through his house and make sure nothing is missing as he seemingly thinks I am able to teleport objects from their location to steal them. It does not matter to me, as I look forward to spending time with the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

I continue south for several blocks, flying fast, often in a diagonal orientation. I land on a few roofs to look around and then notice a church gathering with old people. I talk with the elderly people. They seem depressed. I recognize a male I knew when I was much younger (and who in real life is about my age), but he is much older than me here, yet I do not find this unusual. I think that I can find specific people based on their silhouette, with “mental radar” that encircles the planet. I am able to locate a couple people for a couple other lonely people at a church lunch, also finding a lost relative for one of them. I then fly around more.

I am near a small outdoor football stadium and a large hall for local players that is just south of the field, probably implied as a futuristic or built-up version of Eagle Field. There are a few violent gang members at the building who are possibly friends with some of the football players. I am confronted by a lot of tough characters, but I am able to avoid them by flying about in the large room and dodging knives that are thrown at me. I become an anthropomorphic form of fire, somewhat like the Human Torch from the Fantastic Four. I aim at various locations (not directly at any people) and rings of fire spin up from my forearms, around my wrists, and out from around my closed fists in a spiral while other sections of flame columns come straight out in a tube-like fashion. It is a curious sensation with a vivid awareness of pumping and flowing. Finally, I get so annoyed by all the knives flying through the air and having to dodge them, I send them back to the neck or chest of each thrower, a total of about seven. They somehow remain alive but are unable to do anything.

I leave the building and look around outside and decide to sit down in the grass in a meditation position to relax, facing the hall to the east. I hear the coach yell at me from the doorway of the hall, “You may think you are some kind of superhero, but let me tell you, you will feel the cold of winter when it comes, the same as any of us!”

Annoyed by this disruption of my attempted meditation, I hover into the air about five feet while still in the same cross-legged meditation position and hold my arms out horizontally and a bit forward. Cold waves of energy flow from my forearms and out through my wrists, producing thousands of randomly spiraling snowflakes that spread over the entire landscape. It is a beautiful feeling. I feel a vibration through my forearms and a great wind flowing from my trenchcoat and out through my wrists. The blizzard becomes more intense and I feel fantastic and exactly where I should be. The ground is covered with snow and I feel I have made my point. I enjoy the feelings of the icy winds that almost seem to nurture me. They are a welcome contrast from the heat of the previous scene. The coach stands frozen in the doorway in suspended animation and I consider that I might release him in a thousand years or so. I do not see anyone else. I am ecstatic, cold air flowing from my forearms and wrists, almost sensual in nature, creating a beautiful blizzard. I am the foundation and origin of the forces of nature. I get the impression that I could create anything.

I fly over another region, near apartment buildings of up to about four floors, causing them to ice over entirely with a pleasing musical sound of rapidly building-up layers of ice, several layers at a time as the window glass cracks. The buildings turn light gray with frost and cars stop, frozen to the snowy streets. Time passes, and my dream finally starts to loose cohesion as my thoughts change and begin to focus on the layers of ice.

I start thinking of archaeology (which I have held an occasional interest in since childhood). I lift up a large section, about a full quarter of the entire length of sidewalk, and crack it open, concrete and all, and notice that it looks somewhat like an onion, though with the essence of diamonds. I think about what sort of features, including treasures, that could be found in the various layers of ice. I notice that it is night, becoming darker (even though it had been afternoon a short time before). I slowly wake, feeling very happy.

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Several pages of detail (including the numerous common autosymbolic meanings) have been removed from this entry to keep it a reasonable length. In this subliminally lucid dream (meaning, as a result of a specific type of synaptic gating, that my conscious self identity was aware that I was dreaming even though my dream self was not), there was the usual effortless flying and manifestation of unlimited confidence and additional abilities and a more defined control of the vestibular system ambiguity that is an inherent factor of REM sleep. The last scene, with the diamond-like layers, was a subliminal realization of temporality (chronological patterns in the analogy of a timeline along with viable memory), which does not usually exist in the dream state. I used to work on Copeland Avenue near the building featured, but there was never a school there, and Zsuzsanna and I are not close in age as this dream implied, and she has never been to America. The only dream element related to real life is the carryover regarding the “Hair” movie dubbed in Hungarian.

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Morning of January 19, 2014. Sunday.



This dream is really too hard to describe correctly, but I will try to summarize anyway. I am not “in” the dream directly, but an invisible being that follows along with the dream’s main character, an unfamiliar male. It does not seem to be on Earth, but on an Earth-like planet, perhaps a planet that is mostly one large prison. There is something that seems like some sort of strange game show or actual survival contest. The only prize seems to be being allowed to have more freedom, I think and getting more meals or something along those lines. It seems to take place in some kind of huge partly holographic area that keeps changing in some ways. There are a lot of “deadly” tricks using mirrors as if with some sort of survival-oriented carnival.

At one point, the man runs down a large hall. A strange (but somewhat human-like) alien shoots at him with a laser, but it is as if both the man and his enemy are somewhat confused by the orientation of the environment as well as the various mirrors in different strategic locations. He escapes from several similar situations. The alien fires at the wrong “targets” and he is able to escape each time. I am glad and feel he will get past any challenge. Most of the area seems to be of stone walls, chain-link fences, very large mirrors, and “random” rooms of various sizes. There are a few neglected gardens here and there.

Eventually, I am aware that many of his friends in similar circumstances did not survive and he is actually the only one left. I see him in some sort of rundown cafeteria or prison lunchroom area with park benches and a concrete floor, though seemingly at least the third floor and accessed by a metal, skeletal staircase. It also seems to have one fully open wall (easterly) like a sort of direct balcony area, also with a chain-link fence about halfway up. A dwarf is there and several pirate-like characters. He seems sad at having been the only one to survive. He meets new people and they run errands for him of some kind. It is a long dream, but with a lot of odd material that I did not quite get, like a complex science-fiction story.

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UPDATE: I am tagging this with “dream journal synchronicity” due to a comment left on a different site regarding this same post: “It’s really weird, but I just woke up from a similar dream about a survival based reality show apocalypse and posted it, and then i read your dream.” - blackfeather.

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Morning of January 17, 2014. Friday.



For a reason I am not at all sure of, I am seemingly at the home of a well-known YouTube hillbilly conspiracy theorist. He has claimed to be in his forties, but could easily pass for seventy-five - and his wife looked about fourteen in a few older videos. This strange scenario is some sort of rehashing of old data (old memories) for the most part, I guess, as I have not watched many of his videos on YouTube as it is, and rarely all of any of them. He apparently has thousands of followers, many for the unintended comedy, endless delusional rants, and narcissism, and I have often wondered if the character is a real persona, but then, seeing other things of late regarding people and their ideas, I suppose anything is possible no matter how bizarre.

In the dream, he only makes an actual appearance near the beginning and near the last part, where he returns home from having been out quite late at night. I guess I am babysitting his daughter all day (although it looks somewhat like his real-life wife). When he does show up, I notice that he is wearing a strange full-head helmet (and supposedly always wears it even when sleeping - although I had not noticed it in the first part of the dream, I do not think). It seemingly reminds me of a character head from Marvel’s “Creatures on the Loose” (or perhaps “Monsters on the Prowl”) but that might be a false memory. It actually looks the most like a Cylon head (from “Battlestar Galactica”) somewhat - but with a larger eye area.

I am not one hundred percent sure on why he went out or what he was doing. I think it was related to getting supplies (cartons of eggs and such) and likely ammunition, as he was loading a rifle of some sort on the couch after returning home. I get the impression that he was actually “giving” me the girl for the time he was gone as if he thought he “owned” her, but no drama ensued. Apparently, he thought I was going to treat her badly, even violently (as I imagined he had done), although I did not really go near her the whole time. I actually feel a bit wary at not being as insane as he is (even though I try to “fit in” temporarily in the scenario just to avoid any trouble from him, by acting as friendly as possible and agreeing with his strange ideas about alien invasions, what to eat and what not to eat, and such) and am wondering what he would do if he learned I had not harmed the girl at all.

The dream seems somewhat ambiguous. I seem to want to avoid him seeing me when he returns, even though I am expected to be there and I do not really see him as threatening other than being “harmlessly” deranged for the most part (unless he is armed, I suppose). His presence is very menacing on one level, but I think that is merely the effect of the weird mask/helmet (otherwise his character is physically very weak and very weak-minded). I am aware he also eats through the mask, likely having to wash it off later after mashing the food through whatever openings there are in the mask. It does not function like a gas mask, I do not think, but has something to do with being protected from alien brainwaves or invisible government weapons or some such (hard to say with him). I guess it is basically just a more advanced symbolism for a tinfoil hat as with such people.

Morning of January 17, 2014. Friday.



I am in Wisconsin on Loomis Street with my wife and children in the backyard at one point. We are also in other locations, including near a landfill, but where there are a lot of tall grasses. There is some sort of machine that we have outside that works like a 3-D printer as well as a search engine. A search is entered and what it does is scan all landfills and dumps and list the contents and their condition. It is then able to recreate the garbage as is, or reconstruct it from its original state. For example, there are a lot of comic books that are torn or with missing pages, which can be restored under one function. It works on some sort of holographic data scanning and possibly teleportation in some cases. I guess an archaeologist could use the device when the artifacts are too far down or in a problematic location. You could even find various versions of material from older novels before they were completed and published, I suppose, due to authors in the past throwing out hundreds of pages of typed material for their books.

I enter the term “Bewitched” but cannot find any “Bewitched” (television series) videos listed, which I think is what we are looking for. In a way, it reminds me of Google in dredging up endless rubbish not related at all to the actual search perimeters. Instead of “Bewitched” VHS tapes or DVDs, it has a list of other things, including Magica De Spell appearances in Donald Duck comic books and other sources. It reminds me of how Google often alters what you are searching for without asking (which it never used to do).

I decide to reconstruct some comics for our children (both comic books and newspaper comic strip pages), with Magica De Spell and Donald Duck (although the cartoon Magica De Spell reminds me vaguely of the “real” Endora). I then get the impression that there is an option to actually bring out the original rubbish itself (in cleansed format) with any missing bits remade from teleported and cleansed landfill materials or source materials from the printer. There is some sort of idea of reintegrating the rubbish within all landfills into all of human society, relative to a recycling function. This seems a bit sad, as then, all of the landfill “archives” will have been removed. (I suppose this reminds me of the exponentially increasing corruption of the wayback machine, by which thousands of previously available webpages are being replaced by blanks as well as thousands of others being deleted so quickly, it is reported to be found but is already gone by the time you go to the archived webpage. I guess they ran out of finances and server space.)

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Morning of January 15, 2014. Wednesday.



Even though this was a natural disaster dream, there were strong feelings of joy and unconditional love in some parts (even though I was not lucid - but it was still extraordinarily vivid). Most of this night and morning was filled with typical over-the-top sensual dreams, but I will try to focus on this a bit more with its more complex and longer scenario.

This is a fairly typical tidal wave dream (other than the additional joyful states) - I have had tidal wave dreams of this nature all my life; my dreams have not changed much in some ways since earliest childhood. I have been able to trace the majority of influences and associations in fairly precise ways. I often dream about tidal waves prior to a heavier rain (in this case there were actually three shorter heavier rains before my wife got home), usually before there are signs of rain, as was the case here - in this case, in real life, my wife had gone out with the baby not expecting a heavier rain.

Even though I have not lived in the USA for about twenty years, the setting is the street I lived when I went to college in two different time periods (King Street boarding house) and quite clear and mostly accurate with only a few incongruous features of other locations. However, it is supposedly in Brisbane, Australia, yet mostly only including the familiar characters from that time period in the USA (some deceased for over twenty years) and only a couple actual Australian characters mixed in.

My dream begins to unfold with my awareness of being downstairs with the owners for some reason, perhaps to do some painting or maintenance for them as they watch television. Over time, I notice that water is rising on the street. It is just coming up to the level of the house. A man of about forty is out in shorts and a t-shirt and bare feet and mowing his lawn in the rising flood and light rain. He actually almost falls down when going over a mud-hole that has formed on the boulevard.

I point out the rising flood waters, but it does not seem that consequential. At first it is thought that a water-main broke somewhere. For a short time, I think about their possessions getting damaged, especially books and documents, but the water remains at near floor level. Still, as I have the upstairs apartment, I am not that concerned about my own belongings.

The first tidal wave (from directly west) hits without too much damage. There is a thought that it does not really matter, as I do not own much (in my dream) and I can just live somewhere else. I look around at the rising water on the street. There is only a small level of water inside the house. I have thoughts, while standing on the porch watching the weather, on paying a year’s rent all at once, something I had actually considered in real life over the past few years due to property owners’ disinterest in families and even local residents and present overwhelming nuisance backpacker trend and ridiculously overcrowded illegal hostels all over this region including next-door to us.

There is a scene where I look up and a couple children are playing near the opening in the high ceiling that normally goes to the attic (which is actually the “same” as the one in our present home near our bed) which now seems more like living quarters. There is no retracting ladder, just the trapdoor with a smaller square opening that a person can barely fit through (needing to stand on a wardrobe for example). A girl of about three in a white formal dress is playing peekaboo, but obviously it is not a good idea. Soon, she leans too far over the opening and falls through just as I am expecting. She hits the floor rather hard, head first, but instead of breaking her neck - is not hurt in even the slightest way but I still inform the mother, who has her lie on the couch. I get the impression that I mentally did something to prevent her from being hurt in any way (yet am still not lucid).

The mother goes outside and east down King Street, which does not seem like a good idea due to the albeit low flooding, but she has to get something from a relative, it seems. There are also the typical idiots that speed through the flood waters in their cars, a couple getting stuck, as I have seen in real life.

I notice a second huge tidal wave coming from the west (throughout my life they mostly come from this direction - possibly the west being the past or left as on a compass rose and concerns with aging or the past “catching up” in aging - also possibly encroaching Western ideas or “Western mainstream” intrusions), towering over the early afternoon skyline. The tidal wave hits and I watch it with a sense of bliss and love and even positive expectation, greatly enjoying the sounds of the rushing waters - with no discernible sense of fear. However, it does a bit of damage to some of the residential structures in the streets and I feel the weight of the water hitting the building. Looking east, I also see that the woman is drowning and half-submerged in deeper water in the middle of the street. I run to rescue her from drowning and carry her back to the boarding house. She is very light to carry and I quickly make my way back. She is very grateful but only semi-conscious and complaining of her breasts being in pain, as she needs to give milk to the baby in the house. At this point, it seems to be a version of my wife but much younger.

Soon, I am upstairs, but it is more like a different version of the downstairs area. Three men are talking, two being the most vocal. One taller man - the only one standing - is going on and on about “being spiritual” and preaching nonsensical and highly unrealistic ideology - he reminds me very vaguely of Paul Hogan but is not him in any way. I hear the word “spirit” several times with the idea that he knows about the other man’s spirit which seems to make no sense, as they only just met (as the annoying man randomly took refuge in our house). One of them (the one being vocally victimized) is involved in search and rescue work as well as providing services to feed poverty-stricken areas. The man talking about morality and being spiritual seems delusional in most of what he is saying and the others are getting annoyed. This is not typical, as usually generic spirituality is shown in a positive light. Here, however, it seems like the person is severely mentally ill and nothing but an unwelcome nuisance. He claims the other man’s spirit will suffer because he had rescued people instead of just letting them die - apparently he believes that when you rescue someone you give them part of your spirit, which subtracts from your morality and life’s purpose - this relates to both his rescue work and providing food for starving children. Again, I am not lucid, but a third tidal wave is approaching as I listen to this annoying purposeless preaching character - his speech seeming more and more chopped, truncated, and even completely unrelated to actual human existence.

I think about posting a status update on Facebook such as “here comes the third tidal wave” and how I will likely be homeless and how most of the town will be destroyed, but am still not concerned. I am actually cheerful. I blissfully listen to the massive tidal wave that is so huge, it takes considerable time for the top of the wave and the full strength to finally come down in the area. I watch the base of it in the same position for quite some time (almost as if the shape is frozen in time yet with the water itself fully energized and flowing), again enjoying the sounds of the rushing waters. Finally, it hits, and I ecstatically feel the entire large house move off and move easterly like a boat. However, the annoying male yells “oh sh–!” as it crashes into another house at about a forty-five degree turn when it moves across the intersection and kitty-corner from where it hits (although I am not certain if he is killed, but the two other men look on and simply smile at him, possibly out of pity, as he gawks out the window at the other approaching house’s window - and it almost seems as if this “preacher” is being forced to look through the window of another human being’s house as if it is something he can’t realistically see or understand otherwise). I woke up feeling rather energized and joyful.

Morning of January 14, 2014. Tuesday.



A part of the first dream was quite specifically precognitive (of the type which I have always welcomed compared to the day to day trivial visual type). Needless to say, both my wife and myself almost hurt ourselves laughing when the details became known.

In my dream, there is a visit by a prince of a small town. It seems unusual in that the prince is from another close region and representing modern Western culture (rather than being a typical politician, for example). He goes around making speeches but not many people continue to listen as they start to suspect he has some sort of mental issues. Still, for some reason, I and a few others follow his misadventures out of a choice to “protect the village idiot

This is a very long dream, but I will not get into some of the details other than a few here. Somehow, there is an old Greek building which is apparently a political building that was destroyed by recent war (perhaps it is the future). The "prince” gets up onto a broken Greek column (which is a few feet up from the ground) and uses it as a “throne” even though there are a few sharp bits sticking up which he complains about. He speaks, “Whoever after due and proper warning shall be heard to utter the abominable word ‘Briz-bane’, which has no linguistic or other warrant, shall be deemed guilty of a High Misdemeanor”. He then goes on to say how he is not satisfied with the “county seat” (which is not really a term used in Australia). I am reminded of something I had read ages ago and realize that this “prince” must be a direct (fictional; in dream only) descendant of Emperor Norton.

Over time, it seems he actually transforms into his ancestor, Emperor Norton, but the majority of people ignore his speeches (until later on). He mostly claims how “everything” (in Australia) is his and that every building in the country represents “his grocery store” and every person is his grocer. He has arguments with a few people but does not seem remotely discouraged or even aware that they are complaining or running from him. He goes to a movie theater proclaiming it to be a grocery store and gives a speech as to the importance of movie theaters actually being grocery stores and again, how “every man is my grocer”. “I know all of you very well,” he says (even though he seems to know nothing about anyone), “each and every one of you is my grocer." Soon, he seems to be on a quest for the best pumpkin pie. He goes into a woman’s clothing store and sees women undressing, proclaiming it to be the "most obvious grocery store” in the region. “Because it has the most bread,” he says (which I do not quite get - perhaps he meant “breast”.)

Near the last part, he is giving a speech in a more isolated area. “Even this isolated meadow is my grocery store,” he proclaims, “and all of you are my grocers…the fact that you are here now is proof that you are here to be my grocers…”

Suddenly, a pack of wild dogs (mostly larger brown ones), running about in a rather chaotic way otherwise, and nipping at each other’s faces, is headed straight for him. He has no awareness of the danger. Five are headed directly at him as they pass me. Becoming slightly semi-lucid, I merely wave my arms and they suddenly cringe, look confused, and turn around to go back in the direction they came from. I notice that the area is near an arc-shaped gravel road but does not immediately remind me of any real-life location - especially as it seems to just be an isolated arc-shaped gravel road in the middle of nowhere with no other discernible signs of human habitation (this relates to the “C” of Cowsills, as well as possibly my first name, but is a bit too complex to get into here). For some reason, this scene with the dogs strikes me as being particularly hilarious - not even sure why. I guess it is the overall comedic mood of a pack of dogs jumping about and running to go after someone and then suddenly turning tail and going back the other way and checking back a couple times to see if I am still there.

After this, I see someone in town near a row of commercial buildings who comes out from an alleyway. He is Greg R, a supposed cocaine addict I knew from work on Copeland Avenue and have not seen at all in years. “Man, that prince sure f-ed my town up,” he says at the mostly empty streets. I could not care less at this point. I am sitting on the sidewalk with my legs out, leaned up against a building somewhat. Somehow I become semi-lucid enough to be aware that my wife is close by and coming to see me. She comes and sits on me and we start making out in public (although there are not that many people on the streets by this point).

Morning of January 14, 2014. Tuesday.



My wife Zsuzsanna and I are back at the house in Wavell Heights in Brisbane where our two oldest also lived when growing up. The house is similar to the real one when we lived there, but with several minor differences. Most of my dream takes place in the kitchen. Zsuzsanna seems to be making a salad with carrots and lettuce.

We are babysitting the girl of a single mother, although I am unsure if it is “our” house in my dream or if we are supposedly at her house (even though it was ours in reality years ago). After a time, it seems that there is concern about where the girl is that we are supposed to be babysitting and she is nowhere to be seen; nowhere in the house or yard. I think about what we should do, as it seems to be problematic to be babysitting a child who is not even present.

Soon though, the dark-haired girl makes an appearance in the kitchen. When questioned, she says that she had been down by the riverbank with her boyfriend, having taken her bicycle to the location. This seems a bit disrespectful in taking off without saying where she is going. I tell her that if she had vanished, no one would know where to look. I ask her if her mother just lets her go off at random times without any clue as to where she is going and it seems the answer is yes.

“Your mother is a nut job!” I add dramatically. She goes and sits in the corner in the kitchen, to the right of the doorway, to brood. I soon notice that she has numerous tiny white spots on her shirt, seemingly caused by the ever-amusing “healing powder” (over “healing power”) mix-up. Apparently, a packet of maize flour had been thrown at her. The “healing powder” vs. “healing power” blunder always amuses me when it occurs in my dreams (though this only happens when I use “healing power” in lucid auto-scripting and it carries over in a distorted form in non-lucid dreams such as this one).

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It is of no consequence, really. Whether it is “powder” or “power” the overall results are similar enough. It is always maize flour. Even so, there is probably also a “flour girl” and “flower girl” mix-up at some levels.

“It may look like an antibiotic but inside it you have chalk, powder or if you are lucky, you get maize flour or whatever is inside there, decried Prof Rogo.” Sudan: Outdated legislation hindering health programs in Africa by Mena Report.

“I love the flower girl”; a relevant Cowsills lyric. (Zsuzsanna was the flower girl as a child in hippie Nimbin during the Mardi Grass/Aquarius festival, one of hundreds of precise dream clues that led to my real-life discovery of her as my soulmate).

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Aside from the subliminal auto-scripting in this dream that yet again confused “power” with “powder”, the young girl being down by the river with her bicycle is an autosymbolic play on dream state induction itself (as well as a childhood reference to the Dickey Lee song “Patches”). The river signifies spiritual communication as well as dream state initiation, with a younger version of Zsuzsanna, and the bicycle as an element of the physical body, signifying vague awareness of the hypnopompic kick that only truncates some dreams in the first stage of the sleep cycle.

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Morning of January 13, 2014. Monday.



I am watching, I think, a DVD from the local library. Often in real life they do not consistently work, but this one does in-dream. It is, however, fairly boring and I remember that it has a misleading title. It involves a teenage boy who I believe is in ninth grade and involved in boring escapades relating to collecting wins from sports-related gambling endeavors, as well as avoiding those he owes money to. This went on in my own school (even in middle school) but I was rarely ever involved in it myself.

At times, it seems I am actually in the movie, but more as a camera-man-type character. The boy, at one point, walks up a flight of steps that is supposedly only for those in grades eleven and twelve to use and he is yelled at by an eleventh grader - it is on an open high balcony where other students are gathered and either gossiping or relaxing on their own.

From here, he seems to be in an argument over who owes what, monetarily. There is talk and debate on the (American) football games and potential for the scores of future games. Somehow, pizza is involved in the forecasting. There is a recently-ordered pizza (Domino’s - I recognize the logo) sitting on the table in the cardboard container by the seated older boy (in a metal folding-chair). Supposedly, it is a new trend of “fortune telling” - by reading the random toppings on a pizza (received from any takeout place) and also relating to gambling. The pizza supposedly represents “everything” even though the other boy (the ninth-grader) denies it. It first looks like the older boy is going to toss a coin, but instead picks up a smaller slice of pizza and tosses that. The older boy drops the slice of pizza on the floor and it lands topside down, which also supposedly represents something symbolically in the upcoming football game. However, the pizza also supposedly represents the younger boy’s grades and schoolwork and life itself (as well as the dropped slice which seems to have been done on purpose) according to the older boy - as if he controls the other boy’s destiny with the simple act of dropping a slice of his own pizza. It seems a bit “off” and enigmatic and ambiguous all at once. “The pizza represents a pizza,” says the other boy, and walks away even though the other boy is still talking in a superior manner.

Morning of January 12, 2014. Sunday.

Actual image that came up first in accidental image search after this dream (had never seen it before):



I am in a fairly correct dream rendering of the small hallway near the back door and near the bathroom of where we live. It seems to be in early afternoon. Looking out after opening the back door, near the garage, I see what I believe to be a larger bobcat. There is no sense of immediate danger, but I am still a bit wary and inform members of my family. I close the door for a short time, with a vague thought of claws coming from under the door and almost reaching my legs (likely based on a real-life event as a teen where a pet hybrid bobcat violently attacked my leg due to having a scent of another animal on me - I actually stayed in the bathroom with the door closed until my parents got home).

I look out again later, and the bobcat is still sitting there. However, I am distracted by a dark-haired girl walking through the gate, which seems to have been left open. She has no arms (likely a representation of Venus or Aphrodite, relating to the armless statue). I then see that the “bobcat” was only a young domestic grayish tabby cat. This cat seems to belong to her but got away from her recently. She smiles and uses telekinesis to lift the cat into the air and onto her shoulder before leaving our backyard through the side gate of the west fence.

After this, I get a secondary dream (in a different environment but seemingly still in our house somewhere on one level) of a man that seems to represent modern mainstream society - the average person or “normal” human - which I usually go out of my way to avoid. He is a dark-haired man with a mustache and seems to be preparing to do “work” for other people regarding some sort of fraudulent self-help movement mixed in with misconstrued and supposed but fabricated aspects of Eastern religions (much as I have seen a lot of in real life especially since around 1991). I get a very brief but clear audio of what he is thinking, which is “I’m going to sit on a rug and pretend to know things!" It seems sort of comedic but also sad. I also get a vague impression that he is one of the "forty thieves” from “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves” and resembles the man in the photo I saw after the dream.

This reminds me of a brief scene from a variation of the recent “wayward equations” trend. I am on a flying carpet high in the air with Ian McKellen (much as he appeared in “The Keep” but somehow only around twenty here) and the otherwise beautiful blue sky (with a few white clouds here and there) becomes “dulled down” with somewhat complex but boring art. It is mostly of irritating concentric squares of various boring pale colors (of pale pinks, yellows, and light greens) set out before us. We are both standing with our hands folded in front of us at near belly button level. “Is this Heaven?” I say absentmindedly. “I hope not,” says Ian, “I saw enough of this infuriating pastel Hippie art in Nimbin…”

This first dream was partially linked to the usual day to day (often highly detailed or very unlikely otherwise) visual precognition that has seemed continuously at work since earliest memory (which many other people do not seem to have at all or at least do not talk about - or even believe in - something that has always astounded me and has strongly formed an impression of most of human society being “wrong” - unfortunately I could not help holding this persistent view from a very young age). After getting ready to post this, I accidentally (yes - accidentally) used Google image search instead of the web search solely to check the spelling of “telekinesis”.

The very first image that came up showed a male (though in the dream it was a female) lifting a cat (identical to the one from the dream) with (supposed, but fake and comical) telekinesis near shoulder-level. Nothing new, but often the matching is closer in detail. There have been times when I was able to do this consciously (in meditation) - still holding the theory it has something to do with higher “hidden” levels of fractal continuity that the subconscious somehow calculates and not necessarily paranormal.

As I have said before, this happens with the majority of dreams (depending on the type), but I usually do not include the details, as I feel it subtracts from the more personal nature of the dream itself - and just documenting the dream itself in some cases (with only minor commentary in certain cases) makes the great mystery a little more interesting and “unanswered” for the casual reader - although realistically, I still need to eventually document more personal information and symbolic associations, I suppose. Still, if you looked at an abstract painting, would you want to know exactly why each and every line met and what it represented or just enjoy the painting?