non-lucid

Morning of August 20, 2017. Sunday.



I am in the middle room on the east side of the King Street mansion (where I have not been in real life in over twenty years). It is not known if I am living there though, as there is an unknown male in the bed, which is out from the east wall. It seems to be late at night.

I am aware of a supposed haunting, but there is no concern or fear of any kind. In fact, I make sarcastic remarks to the unseen ghost and screech several times. After time passes, the unseen ghost screeches louder than me. The unknown male and I are somewhat amused.

Still, I am trying to get the ghost to show itself. The room has a fictional feature. There is a closet to the left of the door, but this feature would not be possible in real life as there is a hall directly behind that wall. At one point, the landlady looks in to see what is going on.

There are two small wooden shelves near the top of the closet. The ghost seems to be on the top shelf. I see signs of it a few times, but just a little.

Two unknown girls come into the room. One reminds me of Linda Cardellini as Velma from 2002’s “Scooby-Doo” and the other, Annie Potts as Janine Melnitz from 1984’s “Ghostbusters”. Both are to my left, Linda being closer.

I tell them to watch as I bring the ghost out from hiding by commanding it to appear. On the left of the upper closet shelf, a small circle of white material appears. Time passes, and the “ghost” emerges. It looks like a series of small balls covered with a handkerchief as it moves down to the bottom shelf and moves to the right somewhat like a caterpillar in a sort of undulating motion.

Linda makes a comment about it possibly being a “flaw in the film” as if we were watching a movie instead of a real feature in the room. My dream fades from this point.

---

Zsuzsanna and I watched “Ghosts of Darkness” (2017) last night, where a main scene involved two men watching a door to a closet and attempting to expel a large demon from an old mansion. This enjoyable comedic dream is all that resulted. There have been a number of other dreams where dream characters talked about dreams or features or events in a dream as if they were movies. I find this very interesting, as it may be a thread of my conscious self expressing this major sentiment about dreams through another dream character, especially as it is usually said near the end of a dream. A movie theater or stage has also been a subliminal dream-state indicator in a number of my dreams.

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Morning of August 19, 2017. Saturday.



I am in an ambiguous new composite setting (as all dream settings are one-of-a-kind since early childhood), which seems to align the front (northernmost) room where I use my computer (at our present address) with the Cubitis southwest bedroom (so that the main north windows from our present address are directly associated with the Cubitis southwest bedroom’s south windows, though also present are that bedroom’s west windows as defined easterly, which otherwise have no association with our present address). It does not have the usual essence of bilocation, only an unusual atypical blended association and awareness.

There are threads of liminal dream state awareness but no active lucidity from my dream self’s viewpoint. Zsuzsanna is present at times. In the main scene, it seems to be late at night.

I had been going through, in my mind, a set of patterns relating to the dream state. I consider how certain rules or symbolism has remained the same all my life. There are three main ones I had been writing about, but I do not recall what they were, though I think one was specifically related to directional orientation regarding dream features.

I am in the room and a cardboard box containing some of my older dream journals is present on the floor. There does not seem to be the presence of other discernible features. The top of the box is partly open. As I turn to face the windows, I vividly feel a cold wind flow over my back and I am aware it has somehow come from the open cardboard box. I am puzzled and consider that the wind should have come into the room from the windows, though I still consider closing the box more securely. I remain puzzled, standing in the semidarkness, and slowly wake. (In real life, it was very windy outside at the time. The sound probably altered the rendering of my dream in an illogical way as has happened many times before with environmental sounds, body position, movements, and tactile sensations. In this case, my dream self was looking out the window vaguely aware of the sound of wind, while my real physical body probably simultaneously felt a cool spot on my back unrelated to wind.)

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Early evening of August 19, 2017. Saturday.



I am in an unknown residence but my dream self does not perceive it as unknown. My mother (July 14, 1916-October 2, 2002) is present and appearing as she was in the early 1970s. It seems I am only a boy, perhaps around thirteen. Still, I am working with a computer (and of course I had no home computer at that age in the 1970s).

A relative (Valerie) comes up near the left of the table as I am typing and says something I do not fully hear. She goes very close to the left side of the computer monitor. After a short time, I see that the headphone jack has pulled out and I have a false memory that it was a very sensitive (easily wrecked) setup. I tell her to go away as I then try to fix it. She yells at her father (David) that every time she listens to him, she gets into trouble. Apparently, she had been relaying something he had said. (The presence of these two characters is illogical, implying a completely different time period than the other characters).

I become very frustrated as I am trying to work out how to get the jack and socket to work again. The original headphone jack is of the small size, with an adapter of a large jack size fitting over it before going into the socket on the left side of the computer monitor. (This is an unfamliar setup never used in reality.) A few times I think I have it as it should be to work, but pieces come apart and the wires do not touch. There is one point where the smaller jack is just a singular loose tiny cylinder. I notice a number of jacks and socket rings on the table. The ones I need to more conveniently push it all together do not seem to be present.

I become so annoyed I say that I am about to throw the computer away and give up on everything (and not work with computers again). My mother looks on.

Soon, I feel vivid touches on my left shoulder and top of my head, as if someone is trying to comfort me as I sit near the table. I look up and see a large chubby and unrealistically bizarre female face grinning at me. I recognize her as a former classmate (Laurie P) who I never talked to much, though she has darker hair in my dream.

“Oh no, get away from me you horrid ugly…” I say clearly. I am not sure if I have even offended her. She slowly leaves the table without seeming upset. I consider that many other schoolmates may no longer be friendly towards me if they hear of my behavior, but I am not that concerned about it. (There is a vague thought of being unfriended by some of them on Facebook, but this makes no sense in light of the time period I perceive myself in.)

I eventually seem to have most of the small parts together, but it may not work. Still, I put the jack back into the replaced socket. Bare wires are still everywhere. As I sit down, I sense movement to my left. I end up punching someone in the left cheek with my right fist. The sense of touch and momentum is very realistic. It turns out to be a young version of Sam M, another schoolmate. I immediately apologize, saying that I thought he was David (another schoolmate, not the David mentioned earlier). I mention how I thought he might have been drinking and Sam says that David is sitting in another area of the large room and had in fact been drinking.

Sam seems to be doing something with my left arm, apparently some sort of medical attention, though I do not recall hurting it. (He seems an odd composite of child and man.) I tell Sam that I hope my punch does not leave a mark. That part of his face is only slightly red. Meanwhile, I notice that my computer monitor’s speakers are hissing but additionally, the normal audio seems to be coming out of both the headphones (on the table) and the computer speakers. (This is due to subliminal awareness of real sound, as our television is on in the next room.)

---

Attempting to fix the jack and socket relate to subliminally trying to achieve consciousness by increasing neural activity while in the dream state. Sam’s attention to my left arm relates to the fact that it had a slight ache from having slept on it up to this point (which I am not aware of while still in my dream).

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It is the purpose of the preconscious to wake the dreamer or at least bring attention to the nature of the dream state in real time. Sometimes the preconscious is rendered as a snake to more quickly wake the dreamer with more emotion (such as when my arm has gone numb or is getting pins and needles, though was also a cobra biting my thumb in a dream when I was having pain in my thumb from surgery). There may be other factors, as the preconscious is not always personified as in this dream (Sam). The fact that I am in a dream in early evening likely explains why the preconscious is not as dominant in this case, as I had not entered a longer sleep cycle. (The first appearance as Laurie did not create enough emotion to rise from the dream state. Even my punching Sam in the face only initiated the augmentation of physical awareness to a greater extent and with additional perception of momentum, but it began the needed transition as he doctored my arm.)

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Morning of August 18, 2017. Friday.



I seem to be in bed with Zsuzsanna. However, our bed seems to be in the backyard of our present home with our heads oriented south (with the same left and right orientation as we are sleeping in reality). It is full daylight out. Still, there is an odd sense of bilocation of which is not defined in the usual way.

A boy of about ten years old comes into our backyard a few times from our neighbor’s backyard. He is unknown and unfamiliar, though implied to be the neighbor’s son (though this “neighbor” is also an unknown character). I display a bit of anger and aggression and he goes back each time, somehow going over the fence, though it seems somewhat like the old metal fence that was not very high. He has a somewhat condescending nature.

My awareness shifts and my dream changes orientation. Now our bed is in the Loomis Street living room, our heads west, opposite the front entrance. Once again, the boy is imposing by coming in through the front door, which may have been left open. I do not express much anger.

His father, an unknown chubby male of about thirty and with red hair, also comes in through the door as if he had been uncertain as to where his son had gotten off to. I nod and I do not express any anger at the imposition of either, almost as if their ridiculous intrusions do not matter at this point. The other man seems friendly and calm.

---

Nothing relevant to waking life (on a personal level) is to be found here; just the usual dreaming and waking symbolism, here rendered as doorway waking symbolism, though in many cases, a distorted rendering of the emergent consciousness, mixed in with dynamics of the preconscious (sometimes as a “monster”) remains within a doorway rather than viably using a door or doorway.

I can only guess that these two unknown characters were related to unconsciously perceiving (remote viewing) random unknown people in the area as I was sleeping, the boy linked into the transpersonal stream via the preconscious while his father linked to the emergent consciousness, a dynamic that has often occurred in past dreams. The fence is a clue, as a fence symbolizes a division in levels of consciousness within the dream state and of course our being in bed is simply an indicator of being in the dream state.

It has remained obvious through tens of thousands of dreams for over fifty years, that the transpersonal preconscious stream integrates found personas that are the least like the conscious self identity, for that is the only real way, excluding willing coalescence, that the dream self attains enough emotion (through aggravation, conflict, or other emotions) to come out of the dream state under many conditions. Otherwise, the “ripples” of neural energy are unlikely to increase and the dreamer would remain in the dream. Waking and waking prompts are a biological necessity, yet most of humanity does not even come close to grasping the simplest concepts concerning dreams or their purpose or meaning.

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Morning of August 18, 2017. Friday.



I become aware that I am some sort of informal prison guard, yet I also apparently live with the prisoners, though atop a mostly featureless vertically-oriented rectangular prism with only a large mattress present.

The size-orientation relating to perspective is oddly distorted, as the prisoners seem only about one-fourth the size they should be relative to distance. I do not really consider this distortion as such while in my dream.

It is apparently my job, or at least my turn, to feed the prisoners who begin to gather far below. I have a large bag of chocolate Chex cereal. I throw down the pieces in small amounts as the prisoners gather to eat with their hands (as there are no bowls or silverware visible).

Looking around, I notice a prisoner casually walking out a main door into a hall. I do not call out or say anything, though I am not fully sure of the situation. An unfamiliar female guard notices this but does not get to them in time, so I assume that the prisoner has escaped. This seems to happen again later with a different prisoner who goes through a door in another area, perpendicular to the first.

In the last scene, a couple other prisoners are somehow atop the prism near me. I seem to be ready to sleep now. I feel the other male is a bit too close to me, but I do not say anything. He does not seem a threat, but his physical presence is somewhat intrusive.

---

This seems partly based on our youngest daughter accidentally spilling part of a bowl of Coco Pops Chex cereal onto Zsuzsanna from above and behind prior to sleeping. Zsuzsanna immediately got up to have a shower and there were Coco Pops Chex pieces here and there on the way to the bathroom and in the bathroom. Still, an additional association may be because they are somewhat cushion-shaped (as a subliminal dream state indicator). There may also be some sort of connection between “prism” and “prison”, as they sound similar.

Atypically, the personified unconscious seems to be the female prison guard - which is the opposite of the preconscious (though the unconscious does not usually appear to deliberately hold a dreamer in the dream state, which seems rather strange to me other than for circadian rhythms factors). This dream seems to otherwise move towards typical doorway waking symbolism (as did another dream of this date though also atypically), except that my emergent consciousness seems to be projected from a distance (“escaping” twice) due to my direct perspective (as the personified subconscious aka dream self) already perceiving that I am in bed and lying down atop the prism. Ambiguous multiplicity has occurred a number of times before in waking symbolism.

This is certainly not the first time I have been elevated above the rest of my dream’s setting, which simply means that I am closer to waking in a rendering of liminal space (often with increased physical awareness as in this case). In this case, it is even more obvious as I am already “back in bed”.

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Morning of August 17, 2017. Thursday.



I am in an unknown room with mostly only a large square wooden table. I seem to be in a movie that is being filmed in real time. Two other characters are Batman and Robin as from the 1960s television series. It seems we may have been kidnapped and are being held hostage. A couple unknown males are also present but I am not sure of any backstory. There are a few items in the room which may have been sabotaged. Batman and I mostly sit on the table at first while Robin is standing.

There is a point at which Robin follows my index finger in some sort of swaying dance to follow my lead even though I do not seem to be a main character in this movie, perhaps not even being filmed while Batman and Robin are. Still, I hold my right arm up, my index finger pointing upwards, and I move my arm side to side as if I were defining a downwards-oriented semicircle in a sort of pendulum-like definition or as if I am conducting an orchestra. It feels extraordinarily vivid though I am not lucid and it goes on for several minutes. Robin changes his facial expressions to apparently follow my cues as such. He is standing on the table and sort of half-dancing, half-swaying, seemingly professional but almost as if hypnotized.

At one point, Batman has an oversized pair of black squarish plastic binoculars. Like other items, I suspect that they have been booby-trapped by the Riddler or the Joker. He decides not to use them and puts them down on the table. I then notice an unusual bat come out of them (they seem to be hollow now), which may be venomous and may have bitten Batman on his nose if he had looked through the binoculars. The bat’s upper body and wings are like a bat, but the rest of it has the look of a silverfish, except it is all black. It crawls around as I notice this silverfish-like bottom part of this “bat”. I consider that it seems of very odd appearance to be a bat, but soon realize that it is likely of a particular species and so thus is not unusual at all.

Somehow, we all escape. I end up going out the back door of our present house into our backyard. I no longer see Batman and Robin. I notice three bats of mostly normal appearance to the left of the door and standing with wings out on the external bathroom window sill. They all appear to have Mohawk hairstyles. They are arranged in a triangular orientation, as if in the orientation of a water-skiing stunt, two on the bottom, and one on the top with a foot on each of the other’s shoulder.

I step out through our gate, though instead of the street view, it is an alley with a high wooden fence on the opposite side (which my dream self does not consider wrong). An astounding energy and vividness develops as the Batmobile goes by to my right, to the north. It looks like a far more modern Batmobile; like the V10 Lamborghini Batmobile. I feel fantastic enjoyment as I watch it pass, looking at all the details. There appears to be another car in front of it, about a car distance ahead, which I feel is an unmarked police car from the 1970s.

From here, a train passes from the north to the south. Near the other side of the alley are a set of railroad tracks. I am aware that this must be a scene from the movie to appear differently in the movie than the overall event is being seen. The train, which seems already half-destroyed, rolls on the tracks, rotating sideways as with the essence of a corkscrew or manual drill, as the tracks seem to be pulled to the south by some sort of machine, as parts of the train and what is left of it get smaller and smaller as it goes by, and the tracks being pulled along by the unseen machine until they are not present. I can vividly feel the vibrations in the ground in my feet and lower legs. I am briefly somewhat wary of this event being so close to our house (though I mistakenly perceive that it is close to fictional parts of our house to the south and it now seems I am looking out from a long apartment block). Still, I trust the movie studio knows what it is doing and I am confident that there is no threat at all.

---

From experience, this dream may be telling me that, in exactly one year (on August 17, 2018), I will be meeting someone who played Robin in a movie, possibly in a public place such as a shopping mall (or a wayward visitor to my front door). I say this mostly based on two features, one, the appearance of three bats, which relate to long-term precognition (and in fact appeared in a dream with several layers of precognition about Zsuzsanna long before I knew she was a real person), secondly, another dream character seeming “hypnotized” by me in an eerie dance and following my cues or influence appeared in the sole dream I had of Charlie Pride - and I met him in real life exactly one year to the date after my dream. I may be wrong regarding the dynamics of this dream, but it will take a year to see if it manifests as such. (Then again, concerning the presence of the three bats, it could be many years from now to the date as with my prescient dreams about Zsuzsanna.) So, if I meet Burt Ward on August 17, 2018, you read it here first (though it may prove to be a different Robin, as Burt is now 72 years old, then again, it might even be a different person named Burt Ward, hard to say with prescience sometimes being skewed).

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Early evening of August 15, 2017. Tuesday.



I am in an unfamiliar unknown setting, though it is implied to be a room in our present home. There is an unfamiliar tall chest of drawers against a west wall. It has a pale wooden design. There are five drawers.

Atop this chest of drawers, in about the center, is a gumball machine. The main concept is that this feature is somehow able to manifest new items in any of the drawers at certain times, more so, every drawer simultaneously, though this materialization of items like new clothes, comic books, paperback novels, games, perhaps even food items, still seems based on needing to insert a coin in the gumball machine.

I am vaguely aware of the events and the materialization, though I seem to be aware of seeing events as simulated without being directly involved, as the drawers open and close on their own a few times. I am wondering how many coins I have to activate this machine. There is no backstory or indication on what will materialize at a specific time or how to specify what one wants (though perhaps it is based on which coin is used). It may be thought-based, as such a dream implies non-lucid dream control as it is.

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Morning of August 14, 2017. Monday.



In my dream, I am in an unfamiliar location though which is similar to an area on French Island that I last saw over twenty years ago. It seems to be an area where motorcycle races are being held, though they may be meant to be dirt bikes. A few stunts occur. It seems to be afternoon at first.

Billy Connolly is known as a champion based on previous races. I do not recall his real-life status as a comedian at all. It is known that he is a werewolf, though this is not something that seems negative to any greater extent. He does not seem dangerous. He seems to be perhaps fifty.

The race track is near the perimeter of a dense forest. There are many members of the public present at times, but not other times throughout the series of competitions. At one point, seemingly towards evening but when it is not yet dark out, Billy inexplicably transforms into a wolf, leaving his motorcycle near the middle of the track, which is slightly muddy. It seems to be his choice.

He runs off to my right into the dense forest. Some people watch and it is believed he may not become human again or ever leave the forest.

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Morning of August 9, 2017. Wednesday.



I become aware that I am babysitting an unfamiliar boy of about four years of age in the northeast area of the Cubitis living room. I perceive myself as being about twenty-five years old. It feels like it might be late morning. I have no associations with whomever the boy’s parents might be.

The dreamer does not realize that he has not lived in Cubitis since 1978, leaving when he was seventeen. He also does not recall that he lived in Wisconsin when he was twenty-five, not Florida. The memory of his three sons (and two daughters) does not seem extant, though the presence of the unfamiliar boy, who does not resemble any of his sons, may be a subliminal clue, though he otherwise has no memory of who he presently really is.

There is a huge Raggedy Ann doll sitting against the north wall near the northeast corner of the living room. I have a notion that the giant stuffed doll is somehow a mother figure for the boy. It almost reaches the ceiling. The head is unrealistically large in proportion to the rest of the doll. Time passes, and the head seems flatter (front to back) than it should be. The doll begins to sag and lean forward and the boy and I are annoyed that this oversized pie-like head may cover us. I have to push it back a few times, but when I do, the whole doll, especially the head, seems slightly thinner.

The dreamer still does not have viable memory. He does not question why a giant doll would be perceived as a “real” mother by the boy or comfort him as such. He does not even consider simply moving out of the way of the doll when it leans forward at times. He does not consider why the doll’s head gets vertically flatter when there is no discernible reason for the change. Perhaps he is subliminally aware of the weight of the blanket on his real physical body as he sleeps, and perhaps through the veil of sleep, he indirectly recalls that his youngest daughter has stuffed toys near her as she sleeps. Could this hodgepodge of current neural energy while sleeping be why such a scene is rendered? He also did have concern that his youngest son had enough blankets prior to sleeping. As a doll symbolizes the physical inactivity of someone while in the dream state, it likely is a very distorted thread of memory of his beautiful wife Zsuzsanna, combined with thoughts of his pillow that sometimes seems too flat.

Eventually, I notice that much of the oversized ragdoll is now more like a collection of blankets that fall forward at times, a couple that cover me, though I think the doll is still sitting there. It seems ambiguous, and the round face itself seems more and more like a large flat pillow I push back several times. It does not seem cold. I do not think that the boy will be harmed, only perhaps annoyed by being covered like this. After a few minutes, I am aware that Dennis (half-brother on my mother’s side) is coming into the house. He seems about thirty years old and is dressed like a biker. He wants to show me something. It seems the boy will be okay on his own, though I somehow perceive that Dennis has no interest in the boy’s well-being. I go with him for a short distance after leaving the house. I then decide to fly. Coming out from the house, it is now the King Street boarding house. I effortlessness fly north over Tenth Street South, leaving Dennis behind for now.

The dreamer’s brother had not been to Florida since 1970. Like every other dream feature, it is erroneous, completely removed from any correct timeline. Even more curiously, he walked out from the north end of the open carport in Florida yet simultaneously from the closed porch of the King Street boarding house, not regarded in real life much since 1990 and over 1,500 miles away from the original setting. There is no measure of distance in thought, but that is moot, as the two buildings were somehow perceived as being the same. The dreamer often flies in his dreams as if it was a perfectly natural thing to do. To take to the air to get somewhere else is what he has done often for many years in both lucid and non-lucid dreams, without considering physics or gravity. There is no doubt, but the dream self is not the conscious self, and the rules that dictate that flying cannot be as such do not apply, even if there was some subliminal memory that it was not possible.

I end up in some sort of forest on the other side of La Crosse, which I perceive may be several blocks west of Loomis Street. After walking around and entering a denser area of forest by way of a footpath, I notice that Dennis is already here. He talks to a seemingly homeless person in dark apparel. The unfamiliar scruffy male is sitting at the side of the path, facing outwards from the dense trees. Dennis seems annoyed and may be impatient about something. It has something to do with the other male not owning a motorcycle as he is expected to. There is no fighting, just a conversation. It seems the other male may have sold or lost his motorcycle and is now living in the woods. I walk around and see another clear footpath that leads straight through the densest part of the forest. It seems to be afternoon and the imagery is very clear and beautiful. The path leads east and seems to continue for quite a distance. I can see an open area at the very end that indicates an urban area. Still, after walking around, I decide to fly again.

The dreamer does not question this fictional area of land. The area in real life would be within the same area as the Northside Elementary School (though the area looks much different now than when he last lived there in February 1994). He does not ask himself how Dennis apparently walked there and got there before him.

As I am flying, my focus changes somewhat. I see below me, something that is almost like a life-sized map, showing how the area originally appeared. It was mostly a marshy expanse with no trees for a long time. This changes, as Dennis had planted a number of saplings over time, until it was a dense forest. Curiously, I am aware that no one else, including members of the city council, ever noticed this change other than Dennis and a few biker friends of his. I watch the changes in the map as I turn and fly south.

Looking down on a slowly animated life-sized map superimposed over the bird’s-eye view of the land below does not seem unusual to the dreamer. It is like a visual historical view displaying the changes over time, not following the rules of real-life perception. He does not fly back down to investigate or consider that if he did, he might be in the original treeless marsh as it supposedly was years previously.

I am now aware that it is nighttime even though it had been afternoon moments before. I do not find the change unusual. I am aware of a missile lighting up a small area of the sky to the north, over what I perceive may be a small island, but I still consider it as a threat even though it seems far away. My wife Zsuzsanna now joins me as we run southward. The buildings around us start to shake. They seem to wobble and waver unrealistically, somewhat like exaggerated jelly motions. I think we can escape. We run over the tops of buildings, over the roofs of commercial buildings of various heights, no attention to how tall they are. It seems effortless but annoying. I get the idea to take cover in a boiler room of a commercial building. I sense the ceiling may collapse, but it does not, though there is still shaking. We end up near a breaker panel. I have a fading idea about possibly resetting the main breaker, as if that might somehow make the building more suitable to hide in.

The dreamer’s memory seems more viable now as he recalls Zsuzsanna. There is even a thread of recent memory about North Korea’s missile launches, but little else. His focus on the breaker panel reveals a subliminal awareness of the neural energy within his mind, yet not fully realizing why this thought emerges in the last seconds of his dream or whether it symbolizes “deactivating” his dream, increasing his neural energy and expansion into whole consciousness, or both.

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Morning of August 7, 2017. Monday.

Dream #: 18,494-02. Reading time: 2 min 40 sec.



I am sitting on the floor near the southeast corner of the living room in the Cubitis house. The layout is different. My attention is on the front door and a fictitious area north of the kitchenette.

I am aware of my father on the carport (though I do not see him). (My dream self does not remember he died in 1979.) He does not enter the house. He slides several objects under the door (which would have been impossible in reality). I see them as well as hear their movement. There are at least three open-end wrenches, presumably different sizes from a set. There are other items, like a couple of flat pieces of metal. I think he wants me to put them in the hallway closet, as he no longer has space for them in the shed.

I have two irregular stones that seem more like crystals at times. Although mostly opaque, they sometimes seem transparent, becoming glassy when I tap them together. Some facets are reflective and shiny. They have a bluish tint for the most part, though I notice that one looks gold at a later point.

I think I can make a fire. I strike one stone against the other, sometimes doing this when one is on the floor, other times while holding them. They sparkle, and some areas catch fire.

Light gray tendrils of smoke and small flames are the results at least four times. I get a folded piece of notebook paper and hold it near one stone as I hit it with the other, and they burn for a time. The paper catches fire.

An orange tabby cat no longer than my hand rests on my right near a burnt area of the floor. It moves a short distance from the smoke and flames. The small fire is close to it but does not hurt it. Its tail traverses an area of the floor that had burnt moments before. It does not show signs of fear or injury.

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Dreams are mainly a result of co-occurrence with the status of being in the dream state, resulting from subliminal environmental monitoring, enigmatic space, and autosymbolic waking processes.

My dream self sometimes instinctually starts a fire to activate consciousness, a goal stemming from the status of being in the dream state (and being instinctually aware of being asleep), NOT a factor from waking life. My extent of dream control has no association with being “lucid.” My brief dream self identity is not a model of waking life identity. In this case, there is no recall my father had died. There is in other dreams, a factor unrelated to the implied time or any recent thoughts I may have held in waking life. It is because, in subliminal space, my dream self does not have practical access to either my unconscious mind (or its legitimate memories) or my real identity.

This dream also includes wall mediation (another regular event of being in the dream state, NOT a cause from waking life status). A wall (and related features like doors, windows, and fences) is a concurrent virtual division of various levels of liminal space and enigmatic space, though is more likely with an environmental factor like less intrusive noise. The tools from under the door are another association with achieving consciousness, of which the preconscious (reticular activating system) is the foremost dynamic.

The stones become transparent when closer to initiating consciousness (starting the fire) to remind me my dream is an illusion but still controllable by instinct.

Cats sometimes appear with wall mediation (with many specific examples of this in my dream journal), as a virtual anchor in liminal space; and in childhood, a summoned virtual witness to the dream state when lucid. In this instance, the cat is a tiny version of Tiger (a cat from my childhood when I lived on 611 North Monroe Street in 1967). One of the photographs from this time features me sitting in front of the front door, holding him.

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Morning of August 6, 2017. Sunday.



I am wandering about in Arcadia, looking for someone or something. I am in a state of instinctual dream control, without lucidity.

I am certain that I am looking at a rendering of a real location in Arcadia, as if I was assuming to be looking at a full scale model. It is the south area of Tinsley’s IGA as it was in the early 1970s. Even though I am certain that what I am looking at is “perfect”, there is a line of post office boxes extending out through the parking lot from the building. This post office wall is missing the post office box doors so as one can look directly through the structure. It does not seem wrong to me at all despite the odd distortion.

My mind wanders to thoughts of former schoolmates and neighbors, but there is not much cohesiveness.

Looking through a restaurant window, I notice a female of about thirty sitting at a round table. I am certain this is my former neighbor. Also present is an unfamiliar male and young boy who I think might be her husband and son. She notices me and comes out to the front of the restaurant. When I talk to her, she says she does not know me. She says, “My name is Angel”. I start to consider that she had changed her name so as never to be associated with me later on in life, which does not really bother me (even though I do not yet have any viable current conscious self memory).

An unknown young male is soon present and says, “Your obsessions with each other in youth no longer have any purpose.”

Somewhat annoyed by this imposing stranger, I vertically twirl my middle finger. Over time, a white tornado descends into the parking lot, coming down directly upon me, but posing no threat. (I watch it form from the beginning, as clouds begin to slowly spiral in the sky above.) Other people are tossed out of its path and yet I find it amusing that others might think it could pose a threat and I consider they are jumping out of the way on purpose without realizing what it really is. I then allow the tip of the tornado to enter my mouth.

“Don’t eat that,” advises someone a few minutes later. The tornado remains white and fluffy. I continue to remain in the area, not remotely impressed by the essence of the tornado, realizing that I create the patterns of weather. (Again, no lucidity is present - only subliminal threads of knowing I am the creator of it, yet not realizing or remembering what a dream is.)

I eat a lot of the tornado as its form continues downward, and it has a mix of bread and mild chocolate flavor. Again, someone else says that I should not be eating the tornado. I notice that some of what I had been eating is more like a cottony rope and I spit some of it out. I decide that I may not eat any more even though I was going to just to annoy any strangers who thought I should not.

Alec Baldwin, the actor, probably about forty, comes along and looks down cheerfully at the remains of the tornado. “I’ll eat that,” he happily says. I embrace my wife Zsuzsanna and we walk off together, though I still do not catch on that I am in the dream state even after eating most of a tornado.

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Morning of August 4, 2017. Friday.



In my dream, I am apparently living in the middle apartment of the east side of the second floor of the King Street boarding house, an impressive mansion that was part of a tour, but not that great on the inside.

Still, it seems that an unfamiliar male has taken residence in this apartment. I am not fully sure of what the situation is, though I do know that I am a vampire. That is, I am a pretend vampire for a time, and I am using some sort of technology to exist as such. The technology is apparently unseen by the “real” world I live in. (It is of a lifelong recurring theme of using invisible technology that exists in another dimension to bring about whatever is to occur in my dream, though which I usually incorrectly see as being my real world.)

I show this male and a couple of his visitors how I have fangs and how I can levitate. There is an unknown male with me, though I eventually assume that he is my friend Eddie. We both seem to be about twenty-five years old. Eddie cannot seem to decide if he looks the most like Christian Slater or Stephen Geoffreys and consequently acts like both in an overacting vampire pretense. He seems amused by our act but eventually does not say much other than agree with my own pretense, which is more serious. We are wearing cloaks and are ready to fly through the night sky of La Crosse.

Time seems to have passed and I am now seemingly on my own, flying in an unknown region, seemingly late at night.

I see the preconscious below, walking along with an unknown friend, an unfamiliar male of about the same age. I decide to fly down and see what is going on.

The preconscious, an unknown male of perhaps thirty or more, seems happy to see me, but he tells me that my flight did not look as if I had been flying regularly. I do not get angry, as I know it is an illusion anyway, though which he does not perceive as such. His friend wants to see my fangs, and I will them to grow out.

He has a gift for me. It is supposedly my favorite food; a bunch of “stone grapes”, from a supposedly very rare plant, which looks like a normal bunch of grapes other than being thorny and more woody and having no discernible grapes on it, only small seed-like features that are very crunchy. I put it up to my mouth and eat the entire bunch, feeling my teeth gnaw through it, but I do not taste anything other than a slight tree-bark flavor. I know that no human being could eat this, but it is apparently a very thoughtful gift and I thank him. Still, I know that this hidden technology of mine (which is phased within another dimension, only operable by me) only makes it look like it has gone past my teeth and into the back of my mouth to swallow. He does not realize this. He does not know that it phases out of existence once it goes past my teeth. There is no way I could have actually eaten anything like this anyway, but I do not want him to be disappointed or disrupt his faith regarding his belief in vampires, or cease to trust me in my vampire guise.

He kisses me lightly on the right temple, in affirmation of a long-term friendship, and I wonder if I am just a creature to show off to a friend of his every now and then, perhaps once or twice every several years. Apparently, being friends with a vampire like me has given him a status of bravery and strength, but I consider if I am seen as just a “pet” to brag about knowing. Still, I hold no anger.

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Morning of August 4, 2017. Friday.



I am not of my conscious self, though there are a few threads in which I am aware of a few facets of my identity. I am not sure of my implied age; perhaps it is only about twenty. Mostly, I am only aware of my mother. My mother has recently died. However, I think I can talk with her by initiating some sort of will.

The scene is distorted and my memory is askew. My mother is in the baby cot of our present address, though the baby cot unrealistically accommodates her full height. I do not see it as my present address (even though it is) as I have no discernible memory of my conscious self’s present living location. I speak to her, trying to will her eyes to open, on thought alone. It seems to work at times, but is she really okay with this act, or is she angry at me for “waking” her? Holding her eyes open by my mental will alone eventually seems a bit strange.

I go into a room that might be considered to be my room in Cubitis, last seen in 1978, although I have no memory or viable association with Cubits and the room is different anyway. I realize that keeping my mother’s remains in the box from the Barnabas Collins “Dark Shadows” board game is proving to be problematic. I do not even consider that, realistically, my mother would never have fit in this little pretend coffin of cardboard. By way of a false memory, I know that other people are known to keep the bodies of the deceased around their house. It is not unusual; it is a tradition, and yet, a part of my mother’s remains have leaked from the bottom of the box, like acid from an old battery, reminding me of my Kenner Easy-Show movie projector being ruined by leaking batteries so that I could no longer repeatedly watch the same short Thor and Flintstones cartoons on my Cubitis bedroom’s south wall. (My mother had told me to throw out my movie projector, which had been a combined birthday and Christmas gift from my older sister Carol, and to not touch the leaking batteries that had ruined it.)

The gore may be toxic and I am concerned that I had better not eat or touch my face or mouth until I wash my hands, so that no decaying syrupy gore poisons me. I spend a very long time washing and rinsing my hands under the bathtub faucet. The light is bright and I am actually in our present home, though I am not my conscious self and I have no clue to my real life status. I still have to find a place for the Barnabas Collins cardboard container with the plastic lid, which contains my mother’s remains, even though it is just a little box. I have to bury it somewhere. It is in too poor a condition to keep in the open now.

There is some sort of temporary offset dream, where I find myself living on Barolin Street. Two unfamiliar men seem to think that I have taken their truck. They come in through the back way without even knocking. Apparently, the truck was at the front of my house. I certainly did not steal it. I was not even aware of it. These imposers annoy me. They come back a second time as if I had put it back and taken it again. I certainly had not taken it and tell them so. I do not even know what it looks like.

I have to take care of my mother’s remains in the little Barnabas Collins “Dark Shadows” coffin. Her whole body somehow fits in there, with room to spare. She is on her back in this toy coffin from a board game that I had not seen in real life for many years. I decide to bury it inside a set of concrete steps in the Loomis Street backyard, which is also somehow the Cubitis front yard at the same time. The small set of steps does not go anywhere in particular.

For seemingly a long time, as long as it took me to wash my hands, I dig with my hands in the sand. I feel the sand flowing through my fingers. I do not question how a step in a set of concrete steps could be or become sand, but this is where I will bury the toy coffin.

I dig and dig with my hands, and the oblong hole keeps filling back up, not being quite deep enough for burial. Still, I persist with confidence.

The concrete steps have somehow separated, and have transformed into, or have always been, small cardboard boxes of mostly paperback Gothic novels. The area of the ground I had been digging in looks untouched, and it is now normal soil. Will this work out?

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Morning of August 2, 2017. Wednesday.



Actor Jensen Ackles features as my dream’s only known character but my dream self does not associate him either as an actor or as the Dean Winchester character from “Supernatural”. He drives for a short time and parks his car. He remains cheerful and is not involved in any of the mishaps. He watches the strange traffic events for a time.

I am in an unknown area looking at an unfamiliar street. There is a vague association with the Loomis and Gillette Street intersection in La Crosse.

I see a car that seems to be a replica of a Ford Model A. I expect another car to crash into it but this does not happen. Instead, the car inexplicably turns onto its side yet is still somehow moving through the traffic as such with no apparent surprise or concern from the unfamiliar driver. This event puzzles me.

Eventually, when I expect other cars to have mishaps, they do. At one point, someone drives their car on the external wall of an apartment building, about halfway up, defying gravity, and likely trying to get past the chaotic events on the street. It moves along horizontally with its wheels somehow remaining on the external wall.

In the last scene, I try to summon a car by will, knowing it will be mine. I see a white van, but I am not sure I want it to become mine, as I am envisioning a fancy car to show off to a few unfamiliar dream characters who are standing around near the curb. After some strange cars go by at times, some of them missing major parts, I eventually get into one when it stops. It turns out to be a 1940s Roadster that is only about half of its correct size. When I am in it, I can barely fit, but I still drive along until I wake.

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• I know this dream is unrelated to waking life for a number of reasons. Firstly, it is of a type of dream I have experienced since childhood and which stems from my interest in demolition derbies. This dream type also always occurs with a specific subtle form of lucidity, and the understanding of causing events with anticipation or focused expectation. It occurs when my dream self is unaware of being in the dream state, yet a subliminal thread of my conscious self identity understands that it is a dream, and thus is obviously focused on the nature and response of the dream state rather than waking life.
• The summoning intent and understanding in the last scene is typically more a factor of semi-lucidity and full lucidity, though I am closer to waking in this case.
• Jensen Ackles is the personified RAS precursor here, but does not become active, as my dream self subliminally initiates the waking transition.
• In many of my non-lucid dreams since childhood, cars are often too small for me to get into. A car in my dreams is typically an autosymbolic rendering of my real physical body as subliminally perceived in sleep, so as a result, the attempt of getting in a car creates a factor of ambiguity. That is evidenced here when a car still moves about on its side to indicate a connection to the fact that I am sleeping on my side at the time.
• This dream type, in which very little of my conscious self identity is extant, is more likely to hold more of the factor of instinctual dream control, which validates that dreams are more about the level of unconsciousness and the dream state itself than waking life (other than when prescient or as a literal carryover from waking life).
• An intersection is autosymbolism for neural gating in the dream state, metaphorically representing the choices of either continuing the dream or waking. Typically, as here, the street representing the direction of sustained dreaming is more likely to have dream-based autosymbolism (the car on its side as a reference of me sleeping on my side).

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Morning of August 2, 2017. Wednesday.



I am with my wife Zsuzsanna. We are with several unknown people. In the first scenario, we are in some soft of unusual park. There is an unfamiliar female, dressed somewhat like a carnival fortune teller, who supposedly understands things about rare creatures in the area as well as how to use certain herbs for health. Still, there is a point at which I decide to leave with the others without any of us really interacting with her. She tells me about how I had changed my mind about asking her something after I already gained my own information about something. It is not really patronizing; just an observation, I think.

I had taken the remains of two witch snakes that had died of natural causes. They are mostly like a snake other than having the miniature head of a Halloween witch. There is a painting of one in some sort of brochure, which I mention is not realistic because the head does not look right, being too cylindrical. An unknown male seems to have a different opinion, claiming that is how they look when alive.

I take the fangs out of the upper part of their mouths, though I arrange them as pointing upwards, front down on a surface. Each creature has three teeth, it seems, though I first think that there had been four. It seems that another male might have lost a couple when the surface was tilted, and they slid off, but after there seemingly being at least one with four teeth, it looks like only three from each. I mention how it seems that one witch snake was older when it died, due to its fang-like teeth being cracked (with thin lines) vertically, in the back.

Our group ends up walking in an unknown area, though it eventually resembles the grounds of my old middle school in Florida on the north end. I talk about how each tooth could be sold to superstitious people as some sort of object for healing. This seems amusing to me and I think I might be able to make a lot of money but then I consider that people might only be willing to pay twenty dollars each as another male gives advice and seems to agree.

I then talk about how we can create the “same” fangs to have a potential to make more money. I mention how if dirt is placed in the mouth of a clam that a tooth would grow from that location. (This is actually some sort of distorted memory relating to how pearls are formed in oysters. There is probably also a second layer of distortion based on the phrase “pearly whites”, referring to teeth.)

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