Blue_Opossum

Morning of May 11, 2013. Saturday.



I am back in La Crosse at my sister Marilyn’s house and it is seemingly in the middle of a very cold winter. The house has a very large and strange furnace in the basement (as in real life) but where one larger vent, instead of the real-life small, narrow one at the baseboard, is somewhat like a large opening in the east wall about the size of a large painting and is where the right front window to the porch would be in real life. The vent also has a more open grill. There are also additional vents in the walls (instead of the other rooms’ floors as in real life) in a couple other rooms, but smaller.

A younger woman (of about 30) is visiting who is not familiar to me at all, but she seems to have some attributes of a mentally ill woman that shared the same building with my sister in real life over twenty years ago. An older brother is also there. There is some sort of concern about the furnace not working correctly. My sister and her husband, for some unknown reason, do not seem to be there - perhaps being on a longer trip somewhere. Time passes and the woman proves to be a bit annoying and sarcastic and apparently does something to the thermostat controls. My brother is in another room at the time, at the back (or upstairs?), and seems to be staying with either the unknown woman in the upstairs separate unit or my sister and her husband.

I feel a strong, vivid awareness and it seems like a state of semi-lucid awareness, but I do not try to change my dream or explore much. However, there is an amazingly intense heat that seems to burn right into my skin - almost like a flash fire in which I feel ready to “die”, and I am aware that the entire house could become ash in a short time. Oddly, I have more concern for my sister’s belongings and memorabilia than my own life for a short time. I notice fire leaping out of the vent near the front door (the biggest fictional vent mentioned earlier).

My brother yells out, like a disembodied voice from above and behind me, “Hey who turned up the heat, it’s too hot, what’s going on?” He turns out to have been downstairs, but had gone out the back door mostly to cool off and additionally get some fresh air. I go out the back door as well. Soon, everything is fine again, with no damage or even burns on anyone and no external fires. As we are walking back into the house, my brother mentions casually that the unknown woman had put the COBOL punchcard (the size of a credit card) accidentally into the thermostat upside-down and backwards. I start laughing and doing a sort of patronizing strut, saying “yeah, sure…sure…”, fully knowing that the unknown woman had done it on purpose to destroy my sister’s house and belongings for some unknown reason (perhaps jealousy of having a more complete photographic record of her childhood and past). He verbally notes several supposed positive qualities of the woman, including her looks, and I almost feel sorry for him and his ignorance, but I continue to laugh and humor him with “yeah, right, sure…if you say so…”. I know that the woman is actually an unattractive criminal and had done similar things in her past, also claiming it was accidental. He apparently does not even know that I am making fun of him.

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Update: This turned out to be metaphorically precognitive less than a year later regarding my sister’s unexpected death and her (some important, including photographs) possessions being discarded by a thoughtless “friend” (supposedly to “help” my brother-in-law) whom my brother also knows, the same one associated with the unknown female in this entry.

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Morning of May 11, 2013. Saturday.



This was an odd but very vivid dream (semi-lucid, becoming fully lucid). It may have resulted from a new type of meditation with affirmations I have been trying for the first time (which always brings unexpected new dreams that are sometimes far from actual intent in meditation the first time around). It goes along the lines of mentally saying “One point one, I am dreaming…”, “this (situation, feeling, or imagery) is in my dream”, “Two point one, I am dreaming…”, and so on, up to “One hundred point one…I am dreaming…” assuming I get that far before entering my dream state. I use “point one” because if I decide to continue with “programs” in this same way, I will have to continue with “point two” and so on, so as not to confuse different desired dream elements and sequences at a later date.

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In my dream, I am in a typical combined building of two bigger places we lived several years ago; the house at Barolin Street in this town, and Stadcor Street in Brisbane. I get out of bed, thinking I am in my dream, and I am, but I soon decide it is too “real” to be a dream, even though it is a fictional composite building I am in. I sometimes wonder how other people can dream of real and undistorted locations, when Zsuzsanna and I often dream of composite locations (two or more) as even when we know the place, there are usually additional rooms or elements from other locations (past, present, and future). Over the past twenty years it often has also been two or more countries (or cities or states) in the same place. This seems normal to me, as dreams are often a “unification” event.

I soon become aware that our youngest son has somehow been duplicated as some sort of random half-formed tulpa, getting energies from an unknown source, perhaps my residual layered hypnagogic constructs set up earlier. He is apparently a vampire. (However, his teeth mostly come out more like that of a rattlesnake than a typical movie vampire). I hold onto him so he does not get away and cause trouble or fool other people, as he is wearing the same clothes as our real son and is becoming less transparent as I hold him. The rest of my family comes in (including our real youngest son) and my wife is amazed, though somewhat wary.

We have to get rid of him and it does not matter how, as he is only an imaginary form and is even annoying to the real version of our son. Eventually, though I am not sure how, he turns into ash (sunlight or fresh air coming in?) which blows away before any threatening drama unfolds. (However, there is no actual fear at any point in my dream. In fact, there is an overall essence of beauty and peace).

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In real life this same morning, Zsuzsanna had told me (after I mentioned my dream) that she was presently reading a book from the library, that I did not know about, in which a vampire has the name of our son as in my dream, which is Oliver, an unlikely name for a vampire (in my opinion).

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Morning of May 2, 2013. Thursday.

My family and I as we are now are living in a composite house which seems to be a mix of my Cubitis home in Florida, my sister Marilyn’s Loomis Street house in Wisconsin, and Gellibrand and Stadcor Streets here in Australia where my wife Zsuzsanna and our children and I have lived. Our house has two storeys like the Loomis Street house. Presently, it seems to be nighttime. I become aware that an unknown man in a car had been looking up at our house towards our second floor for several minutes. He seems to be a suspicious character. However, he turns out to be a pest control professional. He tells us that our house is being eaten by some sort of worm called a “millimau”, which is possibly a distortion of “millipede” (which is what they resemble), and “maw” for mouth. The male shows me pictures of them in a book he brought.

My wife Zsuzsanna is apparently going to take care of the payment for the removal, and a large machine of some sort is left in our house. I am curious, so I push a couple buttons on this unfamiliar machine and it turns out that it is (or serves as) some sort of very large cash register that automatically adds up supposed pest control services. The very long list of costs comes out showing something like $890.00 total. There seem to be three different printers in the device that all print out duplicates copies of the bill on a long receipt, which is like a grocery store receipt. Zsuzsanna seems a little sad and expresses that she feels cheated over it all. The price of printing the three dockets is also added to the bill, including rental of the machine. We are also annoyed as It turns out that our house has no bugs or worms of any kind at all.

Later, the man comes back in with his co-workers to talk about the removal of the millimau, which now seems to be a trick to stealthily rob our house while pretending to get rid of vermin. I clearly say, “Eh, none of that here”. I throw up my right arm, and they fall back, shrink, and merge into a stack of older photographs (mostly of open city areas) sitting on a corner of a box near our kitchen, with some of the photographs flying across the room and going under furniture and appliances, such as our refrigerator, mostly upside-down. Zsuzsanna is concerned about the mess, but we can “stack” the trapped people later but maybe just toss them into our fireplace or hold them over a candle. We become romantic and I make loving comments.

Morning of May 1, 2013. Wednesday.



My wife Zsuzsanna and our children (although the oldest is eighteen) are in a matte silver bus (late 1950s-early 1960s) parked just beyond a large bridge (which is somewhat like a suspension bridge and sparsely covered), still somewhat on the road. It is possibly my father’s old bus he used in real life for a music studio, which was purchased from a church and had a small balcony at the rear and had most of the passenger seats removed. I have a sense that there may be some trouble (such as police officers, escaped convicts, or both). I look out the right windows and down and see a couple cars. Looking closer, I see there are two 1936 Ford Phaetons close to the right side of the bus, one parked behind the other (aligned to the bus), of a very deep blue, almost black, and very shiny and well-cared for. Ahead, also to the right, but more off the road, is another one. This one has a chauffeur standing just outside the door on the left. He is dressed somewhat like a jockey from the 1940s, but a bit more stylish and with more balanced (matching), darker colors.

Zsuzsanna and I decide to leave the bus and look around. I notice that both sides of the road just beyond the bridge are partially blocked (about half on the road, half off); on the right by our bus, and on the left, yet a couple more Ford Phaetons of a darker color (so there are five in all - possibly representing our five children, and the one with the chauffeur - for our baby - or oldest son?

As we are standing there on the bridge in a very peaceful state, my wife and I notice that a massive green algal bloom is covering much of the bridge, road surface, and river’s surface, yet it has an odd “fresh”, “clean” and almost foamy feel to it.

A car (bluish-to-greenish-gray 1990 Lincoln) comes zigzagging and spinning (in slow motion) into our area from the other direction, going from one side of the bridge to the other in various out-of-control patterns. The car is also covered with green algae and slime; even over the windows so that the driver cannot see (the windshield wipers are not going, either). This does not seem unusual (compared to the typical real-life drivers in this region; one had even crashed into our house once and another at a different time into the church across the street, and there are “near-misses” all the time). I decide that perhaps the other cars should be moved out of the way (there is also a vacuum cleaner sitting just outside the bus, which I move out of the way).

However, the 1990 Lincoln swerves violently (though it could have easily went between the other vehicles if the road was not so slippery or if the driver had control), and somehow (before reaching the area the bus and cars are) knocking out a seeming support column of the bridge as well as the side of the walkway. It then goes straight off and plunges into the water, quickly sinking completely, starting at about a forty-five degree angle. There are no escape attempts, so I guess the occupants drowned (similar to one of my last dreams where a car went off a bridge into the water). Soon, the green algae areas flow back again, covering the watery surface’s “hole” the car had made in their growth.

“Very interesting,” I say during the sinking of the car.

There is then a bit of enhanced “roaring” silence, then; insects, birds, a slight breeze rustling the trees, etc

“That was nice”, says my wife sincerely, almost romantically.

“Mmm-hmm”. I agree and nod slowly. I look back, hoping to see more fools drive off the bridge and make a big splash, but there is no more traffic this way. I notice that there was additional damage to the bridge, in that part of it is tipped and broken away. Instead of making a slight attempt at the short jump to get back to our bus, I tell my wife we should just walk around via the other route, which may take five or ten minutes. I wake.

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Although this dream was not precisely precognitive, I did see something similar on the news in real life later; a longer special-imaging video of some sort (from a police helicopter) showing people driving and spinning all over the road as a policeman talked about stopping such people. As I sat watching this video, watching the car go all over the road, onto the footpath, etc. and spinning around for what seemed like ages (and much of it was in slow motion), it did feel like my dream. I even almost expected to see one go off a bridge and into the water, but none did.

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Morning of April 28, 2013. Sunday.



Instead of my 1922 Red Phaeton bringing an assassin to wipe out annoying dream characters, it was a car that came up in a Google image earlier, a dark blue 1936 Ford Deluxe Phaeton. I guess my “regular” assassin was now a composite utilizing the new Black Widow (actress Scarlett Johansson), although she dresses much differently, sort of like a younger female Robin Hood (or more so, Green Arrow), but with a more colorful and “tougher” wardrobe.

This was an early evening dream, when I fell asleep to catch up on some rest. At any rate, here I am once again back in my home in Cubitis with annoying neighbors. I become aware in my half-sleep (the television was on) of how bizarre human voices seem (both actors and audience) in situation comedies. “Everybody Loves Raymond” was on and I kept following the seeming strangeness of it all. An actor would say a short phrase, the audience laughed, a different actor would say a short phrase, the audience laughed again, another actor said a short phrase, the audience laughed again…and on and on, sounding like a very unnatural, otherworldly, “inhuman” rhythm.

In my dream, south of my old Florida home, is a different (unknown) group living there. There are probably at least a dozen people in the main front room. It seems to be some sort of family reunion. They have their loud television on (“Everybody Loves Raymond”), with the brief actor talk, brief audience laugh, brief actor talk, brief audience laugh, seeming to be in an actual repeating loop, sounding as abnormal and unearthly as ever, as well as a loud stereo playing some sort of sparse, low booming sound (probably around 40 Hz) but no actual music or other audio nuances mixed in (similar to how a time-stretched car stereo playing techno would sound from a distance). Groups of people have often disoriented me in real life, making me feel very tired and drained even after only a couple minutes, not always in a negative sense, though, sometimes bordering on non-lucid, peaceful dreamlike states, especially in restaurants.

I go to their house and bash on the door. The inner door is open and only the screen door is closed. The house is different from real life in that there is no door on the north end in reality. I tell them to turn things down (there are about four things going at once), but they say they cannot, as everything is broken, so they are all just sitting and standing around listening to it all and yelling all their repeated conversations at each other to be heard over the other nonsense (possibly inspired by the “loud television gag” from "Ghostbusters”).

I try a few more times, but only get negative remarks. It also does not help that when I am talking to one person, everyone else then suddenly starts talking about what I said, and sharing different ideas at the same time, so I have to point out the home owner, who is the only one I am actually attempting to speak to, but it does not seem to be understood. She is an uneducated hillbilly type, about forty or so, with light curly hair, sitting in an old green armchair.

Finally, my assassin comes in. She takes out an unusual looking larger dagger that looks like a boomerang knife. A young man laughs and says “that’s a paper knife” and she then throws it to the wall so that it hits the wall very hard and sticks into it (mostly vertically), splitting the wood nearly to the hilt (which is funny, as it actually does seem made of paper at one point). She immediately decapitates him with another of the same design (waiting just long enough so that he sees what the knife does to the wall before he is killed) but the knife returns, so it does seem like an actual boomerang design in potential, but looking much the same as the biggest knife here (not seen until after my dream - and I do not recall seeing them or at least thinking about the design at any previous time):



The other people start leaving, but only half of them escape in a car, the others being killed (one with a television coming down over his head and one going through a wall, most with “boomerang” knives through them).

I am then on the Seven Mile Bridge at night (Key West). I watch the car of escaping people somehow just drive off the bridge (or crash “smoothly” through the side) and plunge into the ocean - also somehow caused by the work of my own assassin from the dark blue Phaeton. I am aware of two old fishermen in a small boat, only one of which noticed the actual car hitting the water near them. He asks the other, slowly…“Was that a…car?” The other just shrugs and casts his line where the splash was, thinking it might have been a big fish.

I decide that it is time to wake up, as I have probably slept long enough. I decide to use a trick I often use to become more lucid to improve my reasoning skills (so that I will then know the best way to wake up), and that is, jumping from a cliff or a bridge as I often do, as I greatly enjoy the sensation of falling in lucid dreams.

I jump from the bridge and the bottoms of my feet hit flat on the water’s surface, causing a slight pain in my legs from the impact. I then start walking on the water, but see that the shore is very far away. I decide to run over the water and I end up flying into the air, so far up, I am almost out of the Earth’s atmosphere, seeing mostly only the topside of clouds, the ocean and small areas of the Florida Keys. I keep moving and eventually wake.

Morning of April 21, 2013. Sunday.



It seems my non-lucid dreams recently are in a trend where they play out like a “cry wolf” scenario. My volcano dream reported last is a good example (which utilized transformations of one feature into another) and there was even an additional humorous implied “cry wolf” plot twist where the actual (potentially dangerous) mudslide could have been the rock tumbler breaking, but no one responded (although there was no negativity or fear).

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In this new dream, I am with friends from different time periods, including school days (possibly because I now interact with them somewhat in a limited way on Facebook).

We are climbing a fairly steep hill, but I do not have any difficulty in doing so. However, I do have concern about how high I am relative to stable standing areas (wondering about the nature of their solidity and possible eroded areas). I also feel that I am getting into better shape (and losing a bit of weight to increase my life span) by doing this.

As we climb fairly high (with no equipment) near a lesser-used park area, I notice a human hand and partial arm sticking out from the ground near some tree roots about ten feet above us, on the diagonal slant to the north. Even though it has probably been there at least several years, it is neither bony nor decayed in any way.

I rapidly descend the steep hill with little effort and go off to a park station to call out about “human remains” (in almost the same way I waved and shouted “volcano”, followed later by “mudslide”, in one of my last dreams). They had not been found for some time, I guess, because that is an area that is not used as much by the public.

When I get back (via easier access from another area to the east, where there is a steep road that can be reached by jeep), my friends had uncovered the rest of the “human remains”, which turn out to be a mannequin in fairly new condition. (However, in my dream, the park ranger refers to it as a “doll-man” instead of a mannequin.)

Taking a closer look at this one again, and the elevated hillside setting (meaning closer to conscious self identity), the “human remains” which turned out to be a mannequin could be a distorted subliminal conscious awareness of my real physical body (as dolls and mannequins typically represent the inactive conscious self in real time).

The usual precognitive element was to a lesser degree in this dream. I had today noted that my oldest daughter’s newer report included the artist John Dollman (late 1800s), and there was also a doll in the reviewed painting. It was about the unknown dangers and concerns of immigration and travel.

Night of April 19, 2013. Friday.





This is another dream where I revisit my teenage years to take some review tests. A few friends are with me. The teacher seems nice. I am not sure of the grade; it is possibly eleventh grade (but with an intermediate association to make up incomplete work). I seem to be back in Florida. The questions are related to basic mathematics and I easily answer them, as I already had seemingly done this same work a few times before, but it is something to do with time taken over test scoring in this case.

Later, the location of the tests changes to some benches under a large shelter in a large park (but still near a school building). It may be at Lake Katherine. It seems to be at night and it is very dark out (though there is minimal lighting from the ceiling of the open shelter).

I decide to get up and walk around to get a break from the test. I am vaguely aware that I am hovering and floating in the air at times and I become semi-lucid.

In the far distance I see a high mountain to the north. (The school building and park shelter are to the east of where I am standing.) A volcano is erupting, sitting atop the highest area of a larger mountain (instead of the smaller separate volcanic mountain being at ground level) and I see larger rivers of lava flowing down from the mountain on the right side of it and a little more on the left (but not as thick and glowing as the other side). It even seems to be near a high cliff. I have a brief thought about there being no mountains like this in Florida, but I still accept the scene. I run back to my classmates shouting “Volcano, volcano!” and point to the north. There will probably be time to get away, as the volcano is very far away.

I look back and see that the scene looks completely different even though it was beautiful and perfect when I first saw it and there was no doubt that it was “real”. The “volcano” is really close now, but it is only an image on a large billboard that features a Lava Soap advertisement. It is now just across the road from where we are. Also, there is some sort of electrical problem, causing lights to go on and off. (The billboard lights also flash.) I walk around and the other students soon join me. There is something said about the school closing for the night when the teacher returns. I notice that some lights are from a large porch (which is on the other side of the billboard) that extends out over an embankment just off the road. (It seems to be a large back porch but this is not certain.)

I see that there is a very large electric rock tumbler on the porch, which is bigger and about twice as long as an oil barrel and aligned east and west. It is making a loud rumbling and crackling noise and also causing the lights to flicker on and off in the house and high-set open porch (though it seems no one is home). Red muddy waste water is flowing out from a rusty hole in the rock tumbler and it looks vaguely like lava and is flowing under the nearby billboard.

A little later, we are back in the same area. I see a large flow of water, mud, and rocks that is fairly close, and start shouting “Mudslide! Mudslide!” (Perhaps the rock tumbler broke this time.)

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I had a rock tumbler when I was much younger, but it was only about the size of a coffee can. They are used to smooth down stones, using about three or four erosive stages (each sand grain grade a size smaller), to make them more suitable for jewelry.

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Although this dream features the common porch-as-liminal-space event (waking transition segment), it is atypical, the main difference being that I am not actually on the porch at any point. Still, this is where the essence of the preconscious is visibly active, though not a threat.

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Morning of April 8, 2013. Monday.



I am walking through an unfamiliar area near a woods on the edge of a small town. I am with a stranger that reminds me of Harrison Ford, but there are a few other people in the area, including Carol (an older half-sister on my mother’s side).

I notice some jets flying overhead, as well as a small UFO, which looks like some sort of very unusual jet.

I point out the strange maneuvers and flight paths of the aircraft as they turn to one side, go around a tree, and come back again. I cheerfully expect them all to crash and my anticipation and confidence grows that they will. One soon crashes in the far distance, causing an explosion and resulting fire.

The UFO (which I actually suspect to be some sort of small military aircraft) comes very close to us, but there is no threat. It continues just past us, crashing to the ground and sliding slightly. It is not very big, the main section not much bigger than a metal garbage can lid, but it does have small jet-like wings.

I am able to understand that it has a computer chip in a particular location. I walk up to it (it is mostly still in one piece and of course had been unmanned - in fact, too small to carry much weight) and reach down (there is still a bit of fire and smoke near some parts of it), and pull out a computer chip that slides out and is about the size of a stick of gum, although thicker.

We walk to other areas. I am happy I have the chip, but we need to stay away from government or military areas. Somehow, though, we are near Area 51, but it is in an urban area in my dream and thus not really isolated. The UFO conspiracy theorists that try to get in are said to be “missing a week” by other people; something to do with 52 weeks in a year and Area 51, “missing a week” being an expression for a person who believes in aliens and is “not all there”.

Each UFO is a result of the government activity in the region and their controlling of agriculture. The chip I have was made to release harmful chemicals over certain fields to destroy certain crops as well as fertilize and help certain others, thus interfering with the livelihood of certain farmers in the region.

I notice a group of about five military police of various ages who are annoying an innocent family at a farm when I go in, but I remain unsure why the military are present. The family is sitting at a kitchen table not having done anything wrong, and I am aware of the misguided bullying of the MPs. One young man pulls out a matte black gun for no reason and points it at a dark-haired girl. I take out a screwdriver with a partially transparent orange handle (seemingly my weapon of choice in recent dreams) and hit him fairly lightly on the top of the head with the handle, making a strange hollow metallic sound that is almost musical, with a sort of organ-like tonal delay and even a chorus effect in the 440 Hz range. He immediately falls unconscious, sprawled on the floor near the corner of the table by his intended victim.

The other military officers do not even seem to notice and casually go on with their business elsewhere, ignoring their man lying on the floor.

I notice that the lid can be slid back from the chip on one side, and I see that there are tiny smooth and oval radioactive stones of two sizes in an alternating larger stone and smaller stone geometrical pattern in three or four rows. There is more talk on how the government is using UFOs, which are small unmanned jets of a similar shape as the original Romulan Bird-of-Prey design. I had a model of one as a child, having gotten it for Christmas.

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There was minor prescience as is often the case, but relating to something Zsuzsanna had heard. A woman came up to her (a local who has a house full of cats, believing it is her duty to take in every stray). The woman made a comment about how she liked the name Gabrielle (without knowing it was Zsuzsanna’s middle name), mostly in reference to another name that was not really similar. She then made a bizarre comment about the ground being poisoned. I think it was around the same time I was writing this entry.

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Night of March 23, 2013. Saturday.



I am sitting in a car (as the driver) at an A&W Root Beer stand at night (almost closing time, I would say). A waitress skates out my way to the car but loses her balance slightly and her head/face crashes into the car window, the glass falling onto the seat. The crash is not quite right, but is very loud and short, like a small firearm rather than a glass-related sound. The girl seems to have vanished.

I then notice that the glass on the seat is now more like a cardboard jigsaw puzzle than broken glass and in about sixteen or more pieces, so I kind of quickly put it together and it is a picture of the girl looking through the window. I look up and the scene has become “real” and she waves. “Sorry, we’re closing,” she says. I look down at the jigsaw puzzle and it is apart again, but with no sign of skin tones on any piece.

Later, I am out of my car near the root beer stand, but in the parking lot of a closed convenience store. After a few minutes, a few other people gather. First, two men throw a couple empty root beer cans into the recycling bin. Eventually, they open new cans but they spray a bit (as from being dropped or being too icy). They aim the cans at the recycling bin, and a couple streams of root beer go into the open bin, some going on the ground.

More people arrive. Soon, there are streams of root beer going into the recycling bin but mostly missing and going all over the shopfront in wide arcs and all over the ground. They keep going and going and eventually laughing. The mess is getting worse and worse. Root beer is running along the gutter as if it had been raining syrup for a long time. I become annoyed and want to leave the area in case the police drive by.

Eventually, the police do drive in and stop. A few people are interviewed. I am in the sidelines near a larger officer (about a foot taller than me) who is looking at some sort of itinerary on the front hood of his vehicle. I touch him on the back near the left shoulder in a friendly way, telling him about the people I saw doing the sprays and then remember that touching an officer (especially when they are focusing on something else) would be considered very foolish and dangerous (and life-risking).

I say, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I forgot you didn’t like to be touched”. Oddly, he does not even notice. He nods very slightly and mumbles (more at his own thinking) and I walk off to my car and there is a slight concern that the attention will fall on me, but it does not. In dreams, I purposely never have a license for anything (may relate to years ago in real life where a court case and doubled arrest - taken to two different stations and fingerprinted at both - one unrelated to the other county - was all fabricated based on a fictional charge of me fishing without a license and I had a valid one on me at the time when checked - it was based more on my looks and some sort of jail quota even though I acted friendly - also, the judge deliberately signed random bench warrants on a regular basis and went off on a Friday night to keep innocent people in jail over the weekend, everyone knew about it, but no one said much - so it was common for people to plead “no contest” or “guilty” on “time already served” for various fictional crimes in Vernon County Wisconsin at that time - so it dawned on me since it did not matter if you had a license or not, why pay and make an effort to have one, at least in dreams.)

The other people are just standing around trying to explain the root beer fiasco to the police. My dream car is very spacious, somewhat like a modern station wagon. The people continue to stand around, two officers writing notes (one female) and the older, large one still looking at his itinerary for when he goes on his next vacation. Apparently that is all he does when on call. A man points up to the sky, making some sort of explanation that the birds had squirted down most of the root beer or some such (or that it was not even root beer but bird doo), and the police all look up. A man points at the gutter, the police look there. Wherever one person points, everyone else looks; the bins, the shop windows, the awnings, the shop door, their cars, etc. It will be a long night, probably. The shopfront is covered in a thick, dark syrup in various arcs, lines, and blobs. “We didn’t know the bin was already full,” says one.

I get in my (fictional) car and very carefully and slowly drive off. I reach the next intersection and hear loud trucks approaching. I do a sort of weird U-turn in the middle of the street near a taller building - then I remember that I can turn my car invisible while it is disguised as a visible bicycle. I see no other vehicles anywhere, but hear them loudly approaching. Not sure what to do; I risk driving fairly fast through the intersection thinking that maybe the traffic is just echoing from somewhere else.

Morning of March 21, 2013. Thursday.



So here I am on the back of a white 1948 Ford F1 pickup truck. Well, except that I am not actually in the back, but standing carefully, toes to heel, on a longer 2x4 board that is one of many arranged in a somewhat sloppy way, with the gate down, and a few of which stick out to at least four feet from the back (they are underneath, so the weight from the top boards are keeping them from sliding out, it seems). A nice balancing act. I almost feel like dancing, as I can stand almost out to the edge without falling over or being swept away by the forces of the wind and moved by the momentum of the truck in any way. An old man with white hair is driving at about 40 mph. It is a winding mountain road. A chrome-colored tarpaulin covers about three-quarters of the back from the cab. A young dark-haired girl is actually in the back on the left (from my perspective), leaning back on the cab, in a denim skirt outfit (the kind with a sort of bib and with three layers of skirt) and has a green backpack with black straps and trim in the middle near the cab. A yellow ribbon is missing from the right side of her head and has been used as a flag for the extended timber load.

“KAGL 93.3 FM, El Dorado…the Eagle!" Rick Springfield starts singing "Speak to the Sky”.

The girl is working out a puzzle in a Dell logic puzzle book.

“This is nice,” I say. I do a sort of jig to try to deliberately crack the 2x4 to see if anything happens (perhaps it will become a sort of skateboard/hoverboard and I will “fly” away).

“This is my dream,” she responds, “you don’t have to be in it…I’m going to dream about Woodsy Owl, Smokey the Bear, and Wendy and the Camp Fire Blue Birds.”

She moves the backpack in my direction about a foot or so from the cab and takes out a teddy bear, which starts to swell up as it if is a fuzzy balloon with someone evenly blowing air into it (or it is one of those self-inflating travel pillows). Soon, it is a real bear (American black bear) sitting near the right edge of the back, but not taking notice to anything.

I say “Oh brother, it’s the ol’ teddy bear into a real bear routine! You need new writers!”

The same song still plays. “Forest fires prevent bears!” I happily shout, remembering an old Cracked Magazine poster featuring Smokey the Bear running from burning trees.

I start vocally “dah-dah-dahing” the songs “Turkey in the Straw” and “The Arkansas Traveler”, doing a faster jig. Finally, the board cracks into a downward “L” shape, and I fall into a horizontal (my back perfectly horizontal to the road) position on a cushion of air, feet somehow still on the board and moving with the truck. I spread my arms out, “deeply” relaxing, listening to the sounds of the wheels on road, the engine, and a somewhat tinny-sounding Rick Springfield. Bits of gravel hit me in the sides of the head every now and then, a minor annoyance.

I glance up and see that the bear is rummaging through her backpack and eating a pre-algebra textbook and a sandwich wrapped in plastic. I start laughing uncontrollably.

Eventually, I am still on a cushion of air but rising up quite a bit. I wave at the scene moving away and from below me (both the girl’s eyes and the bear’s eyes flash a bright, rippling silvery light for a second or two) and I try to roll in mid-air to the right wayside, but I feel “speed” building up, a strange sort of compressed awareness of time. The Moody Blues start up, “So Deep Within You” (from “On the Threshold of a Dream”) but starts to sound unusual and distant.

Well, this is fun, the sound of the truck’s radio fades almost completely and wind “growls” in my ears. I feel a strong, clear sense of “this is it” finality as the last musical notes fade out like some sort of short, “captured” multimedia artwork, da-dat-da-daaa. For an eternal second, I am a simple black-and-white sketch slightly animated to the song’s beginning part. Thus, I am an upright flying human “X” heading into a cluster of large trees on the wayside. I begin to arch my back slightly, feeling slightly exposed at the “front”. I become “attached” for a frozen moment by wrists and ankles to the old wood.

I am sighing with a sort of unusual body-wide pleasure with slight coolness, slight burning, and the “pulling” above the navel that makes me gasp. I pull the large trees towards each other and into me. A very old voice, seemingly that of a giant, some half-asleep ogre who has slept for a few hundred years or so, moans “Huh?” (as if “what in the world is going on up there?”) but so slowly, with a sense of time expansion, that no emotion of surprise is properly conveyed by the expanded waveform, just a very slow rise in pitch, which becomes…another sound…old roots groan and crack and dirt moves as the trees are pulled inside of me somehow.

“Inside” are white and blue infinite “hopping marshmallow-like cylinders” (loose and silly description, sorry) of soft light moving with great speed. This is a texture of vision that I have seen often in the past. Switch to: A rain puddle, with rain falling and splashing into it, but time is frozen or altered. Ripples remain for a very long time and an oblong drop stays in place even when hit through. Random human footprints appear on the surface and I move my fingers (especially thumb) about the appearing and dispersing “hollows” in interest and appreciation. Eventually, there are dark fern-like brownish fractal images just farther down into the large puddle that quiver “threads” to the surface. There are no more humans, but refreshing rain still falls.

So I pull myself up out of the ground, buried waist-deep, the force ending up on the backs of my wrists, palms up, man that hurts, an unnatural position, but it does npt matter, the long stiff feathers sticking out from my wrists and forearms cannot be bent at that point and might crack if I twist around too much. Time passes and it is night, with a crescent moon in the distance. I feel I am looking from about fifteen feet up or higher. I need to get my hands out from under my stiff wings, they are actually carved wood. My hands come out as carved snake heads from under the wooden feathers. Finally, I can feel my hands but cannot see them as I find a large, carved bear’s head emerged from my chest, its mouth only very partly open. On each toenail is painted a simple face, black eyes (outline) and eyebrows, black nose shape, and red mouth. A similar face is also carved into each of my knees.

Everyone is running around and screaming and pointing. “It’s not that bad, is it?” I think to the down there, “I’m just a walking totem pole. Can’t I walk around without all that noise and negative attention? My goodness… " I almost accidentally knock down a bird’s nest, but am able to place it back. This is ridiculous when burning sticks are thrown at me. My left shoulder catches on fire and I have to blow it out. I would like to move my legs a little more each step, but it feels like I am wearing pants with the legs sewn together almost down to below the knees. It is also like a sense of wearing someone’s prescription glasses I once tried in real life, where it makes you feel a lot taller (I learned that it depends a lot on how a certain person’s eyes worked - some prescription glasses I tested made me feel much shorter). I hold my arms out as a sort of "halt” indication, forgetting it makes me look a lot bigger as they are mostly within wooden wings that span out more. I see more burning sticks ready to be thrown. “Stop it!” I say (more like a coarse whisper), and whack my hand down in the lake and put most of their fires out as well as getting a face full of water.

Something in my mouth tastes foul and wooden, it turns out to be a canoe, so I take it out (part was stuck in my throat like a longer strand of bacon fat) and I put it back in the lake.

I get down on all fours and decide that it is probably better to be a longhouse. No drama. No people running around and acting crazy. I am a house, and plan on staying one… I watch people sing and dance. Chanting and dancing is better than running and screaming and throwing stuff. The only drawback is that I feel annoying hunger pangs when too many people walk out of me.

“Glowing” Dreams

Mean dogs are trying to get to me when I am in a cave near a cove and I am just trying to enjoy myself and watch the waves. But, good luck with that, dogs. They are trying to come up out of the pure, white sand but keep sinking back in, because, being domesticated (aggressive) pet dogs, they cannot walk on pure sand (seems logical). Mostly only their head comes up a bit, and they sink down in annoyance almost as if into a giant ant-lion trap. Mostly rust-colored (as usual) they are hardly even able to bark. Sometimes it is just a pitiful (but aggressive) “half-bark”, with head sort of sidewise, before they go back down, sometimes in a sort of cyan light that “burns” them away. What is really “funny” is that the more they bark in anger, the more sand goes into their mouths and helps pull them down with less breath and strength, with razor-sharp teeth being no threat at all.

I am in another cave, it seems, and a very ancient Minoan column is inside, much of the bottom and top covered by rock. Rays of light come out as it cracks and I softly tap on it. It is not only hollow, another dimension is inside. There are human-like figures made of light. “God” is there but is not a giant worm, but an infinite spiraling “ribbon” of light moving about somewhat like an earthworm. “Oh that’s right”, I “remember”. Some of the people, all ages, and male and female walk into me. Everything is bright and perfect.

Morning of March 15, 2013. Friday.



I am in a sort of drama unrelated to anything in real life or movies I had seen. There is a fight outside between an Asian man and some sort of American or Australian English missionary. There are also two other men with the missionary, who seems to be shot with an arrow through the chest, but he turns out to be alive. The fight is related to the fact that the Asian man had claimed the other man had not rescued his wife from a location she could not leave as he had promised a year or two prior. This turns out to be a Cantonese factory, where she works at a very low wage and can not go home. The man says he will find the other man’s wife (being held in a factory owned by the mother, it seems) and so I leave with the group of three and the Asian man remains in the city area and seems very sad.

We come to a large building (of about four floors high) that has a very large elevator disguised as a main door and facade area that leads into the normal (public) part of the building (about eight times the size as a normal one in real life). It also goes down to a hidden factory area. It has folding retractable stairs that only come out when the hidden area is reached to allow access to the secret factory through an extended hall from where the elevator stops. (The steps are built into the side of the elevator itself.)

It is easy to fit in, because there are people from all nationalities working there. There is a chubby, white American woman of about thirty who seems the most extroverted. One of the “spies” I am with is given a multiple choice test with only one distractor (so the chance of being randomly correct is a full 50%) to see if he can read Cantonese well enough to do his work. It is a small, rough black-and-white drawing of a snake-like dragon (which is always a negative symbol in my dreams that I believed related to either lung cancer or the mother of a bride in the past - the “slaying of the dragon” equating to rescuing a girl from her manipulating mother, which seems to fit this dream theme somewhat - the rescuing of a man’s wife from the “control” of a strict factory setting where the mother is “manager”). The man just randomly picks answer “b” over “a” (both are a total of about seven or eight characters each) and turns out to be correct, but it does contain some of these characters:



Supposedly a play on “DRAG king”, apparently, a woman who dresses as a male or runs a factory as a male(?) - MAN-ager?

The correct one seemed to involve “low-lying” stealth (as a “real” dragon - “lung”) by the mother of the bride with a sort of triple pun involving “drag” (as dragging on the ground from being “low” and being “lowly” in an act of stalking or manipulating someone - I have gotten many intriguing, complex or layered pun-like patterns from dreams of the past I likely would never have thought of consciously).

I am thinking much of the writing (but not all) looks more Korean than Cantonese, but I then notice a muddled mix of Asian languages on some of the other documents. One phrase seems to mean “a hat for my boyfriend”, another, “a collapsible vase for my darling mistress”, which seems odd, since the products are supposedly public-oriented and from a large “secret” factory.

The American lady seems friendly and helpful and does not seem to be there against her will like some of the others may be (I am not certain). I also do not know about the missionary or where the Asian man’s wife might be, perhaps a different area, but that becomes less important in my dream. On a regular basis, our job is simply to put together products from the parts we receive in black satchels of slightly varying sizes. We open them, read instructions, and pass the items down the longer tables along with the satchels (I think with the satchel flat, then the documentation, and the item on top that).

I receive my satchel and open it. In it is a kit that is mostly already put together, along with the related merchandise tags (to sign?) and instructions. It is a very dark blue (almost black) umbrella with two tiers. The top tier can come down to cover the first, more normal part of the umbrella. It seems kind of unusual. To me, it would logically seem that rain could probably go under the top section and leak through the main part (normal main part, but with an opening for the ribs of the top part and some sort of retractable device for the smaller hat-like section to come down and fit more snugly to look more like a normal umbrella). Not much happens after that. There does not seem to be any presence of foremen to watch people work, advise to work faster, or give additional instructions as was expected.

This may relate a bit to real life. It has been ten years or so since we have been able to find a real umbrella that did not fall apart or break upon first usage or so. A lot of stores in the region are known by many as “landfill shops” because of the modern trend in extremely poor quality in almost everything made (even expensive new beds) and how the product should be in a landfill before you even buy it.

This dream turned out to have precognitive elements (although probably a bit more like remote-viewing).

Morning of February 7, 2013. Thursday.



I am with my beautiful wife near the ocean. We are on our backs relaxing happily on the sand - but eventually the waves become stronger, reach where we are, and I find myself submerged seemingly just a little too long with a slight wariness. However, I am fine, and am soon back on the sand as the waves move back out. I think this is related to us doing some sort of meditation in my dream but without realizing how close the waves would eventually be. We live in a fairly large apartment building nearby and go inside for a few minutes.

I am somehow aware of the ocean vanishing (not sure of the reason) and we decide to go back out and look. The waves are no longer coming in and the area is mostly just sand (but I do not see any deep areas like there would actually be if the ocean did vanish). There are still hints of the ocean at a fair distance, but it actually does look like a desert now instead of a beach closer in. I am wondering why there are still pools of water in the far distance.

We again go back inside. There is concern about some sort of dangerous creatures in the area that came from the ocean (due to the large amount of water receding). There are supposedly many different types, but no one seems to agree on size at that point. The answer to keeping safe seems to be only to build high walls around every single building and home to keep the creatures from getting to people - there is nothing about attacking or going after the creatures or any other form of defense. I see someone I know who is already finishing up the final section of the wall around where we are. He seems happy and confident. Supposedly, all humans will have to remain in buildings and behind walls from now on. (I am not sure how people would get around or get food and other supplies, though.)

Everything seems fine. Eventually, there is someone outside the door near the back (facing where the ocean was), but we are higher up, I think on the third or fourth floor. Wooden steps go up to a screen door. (It reminds me much of our front entrance on Stadcor Street at Wavell Heights at this point but much higher.) A boy and a girl are there. They are talking about coming in or moving into the area. However, they are not quite human. They are creatures from the ocean. They seem harmless, but I am fairly certain they and those like them would destroy (or eat) the human race. I am at sort of a non-cohesive mode of thought. I am again aware that there is a very large number of different types of these creatures, but all somewhat human. These two look mostly human but have crustacean parts that are hardly noticeable, such as slight bumps on the side of the face, slightly differently-shaped fingers, and thin antennae near the top-back of the head and slightly different eye color and hair color than “normal”. There are probably more (that came from deeper areas of the ocean) who have glowing lights down their legs and arms or perhaps even those with more than one pair of arms.

No conflict occurs, and there is no fear or even stronger concern of any kind, but I do not let them in or give them food or anything. I even contemplate the supposedly dangerous creatures and the humans living together as one people, but I doubt it would ever happen. As it is, people will just have to stay inside while the creatures roam and take over the world and perhaps set up their own government.

Morning of January 1, 2013. Tuesday.

Reading time: 1 min. Readability score: 63.



It seems to be morning. I am in a setting that mixes my bedroom in Cubitis with our current bedroom. I perceive the Cubitis carport as being to my right (ambiguous mix of north with south). There is also a presence of indoor-outdoor ambiguity.

A paratrooper (as an unknown male of about twenty) has landed in our bedroom. He may have crashed through a wall or ceiling, but I do not think he is injured. I get the impression that I had been sleeping on his parachute, but I also consider he may be mistaking our bed sheet for his parachute even though the suspension lines seem to trail to under where I am lying. I also wonder if his parachute is under our mattress. Zsuzsanna does not wake. I remain annoyed. I feel slight movement when he pulls on the lines. As I start to consider yelling, though I do not have a feeling that he is deliberately intruding, I find I cannot speak, and wake.

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Thread 1: Liminal awareness of being asleep, recall that Zsuzsanna is sleeping to my left.

Thread 2: Vestibular system correlation. Derivation as someone else having fallen.

Thread 3: RAS avatar as VSC personification.

Thread 4: Mix of Cubitis home with present home.

Thread 5: Current conscious self identity extant.

Thread 6: Indoor-outdoor ambiguity.

Thread 7: False directional orientation.

Thread 8: Waking priority to my right.

Thread 9: Possible play on “lines of communication” between the dream self and conscious self or interconsciousness or nuances correlating physicality.

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Morning of December 30, 2012. Sunday.

Reading time: 1 min 50 sec. Readability score: 63.



In my dream, I am in an open field in an undetermined location. It seems to be late morning. At least two soldiers are present, one possibly a lieutenant. One is using binoculars at times. (I am unaware of directional orientation as is sometimes the case even with unfamiliar settings or distorted composites sometimes including it.)

A flock of birds, possibly ducks, flies overhead. There is something about “retaliation.” I am unsure if the soldiers are referring to the birds or an unseen human enemy beyond.

They have a model white plane without any detail on its surface. They send it into the flock of birds by remote control. I anticipate something dramatic will happen. One of the soldiers looks at me curiously for a short time.

The airplane seems to have gone out of sight and crash-landed in a marsh. It seems to be my task to get it. I wade through soft wet ground near a river. I grab what I think is the model aircraft.

Upon my return, the soldiers are now duck hunters. The airplane I am holding is now a duck decoy. They seem to be annoyed that I have “retrieved” it as they are still using it. I give it to them, and we do not exchange words, angry or otherwise.

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Vestibular system correlation, which has occurred in at least one dream per sleep cycle for over fifty years (typically more, especially in the first stages of sleep), has infinite dynamics. Certain incidental elements are part of it, but outcome stems from levels of non-lucid or lucid control of anticipation of the waking process. I have documented and decoded thousands of such dreams, and the nuances are always unique (just as I have never dreamt of the same place, in the same way, more than once).

In this dream, the simulacrum of emerging consciousness is a projection as the model airplane. The remote control aspect is the reactive representation of RAS mediation, the preconscious avatar as the soldier with the binoculars.

The transition stems from the fact that this was not my last dream of the sleep cycle. In those, RAS personification is more dominant when present. The change comes by way of reinduction (water as sleep). There is the transition of “toy” airplane to “toy” duck. The duck is not alive, which means less chance of a hypnopompic trigger under these circumstances. (This is also true when I see a picture of such as a helicopter rather than a present or moving one.)

Reactive representation (autosymbolism, though not restricted to Herbert Silberer’s usage of the term as all dreams are a result of it, not only hypnagogia), has many different possibilities. Although there are not that many variations of the waking process, the nuances are seemingly infinitely unique.

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Morning of December 20, 2012. Thursday.



I am with my wife Zsuzsanna at our present address, which is rendered as larger. There are railroad tracks at the side of our house where the public footpath would otherwise be. In the last scene of my dream however, the railroad tracks are no longer there.

During this time, there appear to be various rusty gears along the tracks (by passing trains that sometimes lost their parts, though no train is ever present). At one point, I consider that they may be valuable, but this is not a consistent thought. (I am not sure of how I would go about selling them.) There are also a couple street rod exhaust pipes which I do not consider are unrelated to a train and instead seem to think they are part of a locomotive.

At some points, it seems as if there may be railroad pocket watch gears mixed in with the pieces of a train. If I find all of them, I may have enough to make a watch or perhaps sell as useful parts (to the right people).

Over time, it seems that the railroad tracks had somehow disintegrated and there are patches of grass that are a lighter color and straw-like. There are also far less gears and debris. One gear looks illogically oversized.

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Years ago, my brother-in-law Bob gave me an heirloom from his family, as he did not have a son to give it to. It was a railroad pocket watch which was likely worth quite a bit as an antique (though I never had it appraised). I had left it in my King Street apartment atop a chest of drawers, and it somehow vanished even though my door had been locked and nothing else was ever taken. I never saw it again and I never informed Bob. It is possible that a previous tenant got in.

In general, this has been a common recurring dream situation since childhood, though primarily rendering Cubitis as the setting. Usually, it is related to passing trains leaving discarded books or other “treasures” (otherwise on their way to a landfill), typically headed north. In some versions, there were virtually endless sets of railroad tracks easterly of the Cubitis backyard, with the chance to explore various items scattered over the areas but usually limited to the area around my Cubitis home’s backyard and beyond to the east, and not farther to the north or south.

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