non-lucid

Morning of October 12, 2015. Monday.



In my dream, I had been reading an article and make a note of the names Ken Curtis and Amanda Blake (the names of which stand out and do not become distorted as is often the case with words changing when looking back again at what you have read previously). Over time, my dream shifts into a scenario relating to filming a television show.

In the episode, apparently of “Gunsmoke”, Miss Kitty (who looks like Amanda Blake at this point) is kidnapped by horse thieves. Along the way, she keeps giving them important advice on which direction to go and when to feed the horses. She does not seem to be in any real danger. She seems very concerned that the horses are well-treated and healthy.

Later, I realize that I am Ken Curtis (though look like myself, though younger, perhaps around thirty-five) and my wife Zsuzsanna is Amanda Blake (though also looks like herself at this point). An unknown female “recognizes” us and understands that they or we are the “most famous people ever”. This is even in regards to my dream’s false back story where the two celebrities apparently were only in a few episodes of a television show rather than their actual lifelong careers. I am not exactly sure of how the nature of “our” fame came about.

Also, as Ken Curtis, I can heal people that just come into the same room. One person is grateful for how I healed their back problems.

From here, people come to see us now and then, but not much else happens. I suppose what is even more amusing is that any thought of Matt Dillon (James Arness) is completely nonexistent. I have absolutely no memory of him in my dream at any point and he never appears in any way, even though he was actually the star of “Gunsmoke”. Now this is what I call true selective memory in the dream state and wonder how it is even possible. Before I fell asleep, I was absentmindedly focused on dreams from 1966 up until now, though kind of shifting randomly all over the place.

This is also intriguing because, in both cases, no two people could be so different from us. In both cases, at least the characters they played are nearly the opposite in every way to how we are.

My sister Marilyn did meet Ken Curtis in real life years ago though, when he had his makeup on and such and gave her an autographed photograph as his Festus character.

Ken Curtis: July 2, 1916-April 28, 1991

Amanda Blake: February 20, 1929-August 16, 1989

Morning of October 10, 2015. Saturday.



This is a set of three shorter dreams in which one shifted into the other with only partial wakefulness.

The first involves being at an unknown location near a river bank. My wife Zsuzsanna and I are watching alligators swim through the water every now and then, just under the surface. A few other people are walking around. The alligators do not really seem threatening. Eventually I notice how a few of them look very different from normal alligators, though mostly around the head. I point out that it seems someone is apparently doing strange experiments with dinosaur DNA or possibly even living dinosaurs and alligators, as each alligator seems to have minor features from a known dinosaur, one having a head somewhat like a Tyrannosaurus, the other like a Styracosaurus, though flatter and more alligator-like. I even manage to pull the Styracosaurus alligator out of the water and partly onto the bank so that I can show people what I mean.

After a partial awakening and back into sleep, my wife and children and I are back on Barolin Street, except that all of the houses north of ours (as in reality) are gone and the area is replaced by a large field of mostly short grass and which is bordered by a fence adjacent to the sidewalk. Only a few other people are around farther to the north.

An unnaturally large Tyrannosaurus, probably about twice as large as any real one ever was, is walking about in the field as if being kept there by the small fence, which is only about the height of an average human waist. I see another Tyrannosaurus nearby, about three lots beyond the first one. In the back of my mind, I sense a part of myself contemplating how I will change my dream from an uneventful one into one where we are chased by the dinosaurs. (This vague awareness of making my dream in real time which also occurs with clearer awareness in indescribable abstract dreams has occurred since early childhood, though there is no hint of lucidity otherwise.)

The Tyrannosaurus moves his head down, leaning forward, and smashes down the tiny fence with his head, as if the tiny fence was somehow keeping him in the field when all he needed to do was just step over it without even noticing. I find this scene somewhat comedic, pondering the seeming low intelligence of the creature. I tell everyone that we need to go back to our house, as the dinosaur is now loose. It is soon moving very fast in our direction though the other one seems to be considering which direction to go (as there are more unknown people to the north). We go onto our porch, though the door to the main entrance and hallway is locked. From here, I non-lucidly manipulate my dream by rewinding it, pausing it, and jumping about in terms of sections of previous events.

In my next dream, we are inside the Barolin Street house, in the living room, I think. I am near the center of the room sitting on the floor. For some reason, I am practicing my firing of projectiles, which are actually finger bones from my hand. I somehow pop them out from my skeletal hand and fire them across the room (with a force that carries them to the wall, a few hitting a desk). I do this at least twelve times with all twelve of the phalanges of my right hand (not counting my thumb). I somehow continue with my left hand (not realizing it would not be possible as my right fingers are all gone). Looking down at my own skeleton, I see that I must have also already used some of my ribs at an earlier date. It is no problem, as I will eventually probably snap all my bones back into place later on.

(This may have something to do with the difficulty we had in snapping together the life-sized Billy Bones model kit a few months ago.)

Morning of October 7, 2015. Wednesday.



I am in the living room in Cubitis, seated at a large wooden table in the southwest corner. My computer is set up in a similar way as with my desk in real life. My wife Zsuzsanna and our children also live here (though in real life, they have never been to America), thus my dream self is at least partly aware of my current conscious self identity. It seems to be morning.

Our pet chicken (fictional, though my father raised chickens in Cubitis until we moved in 1978) is sitting on the table to the left of my computer keyboard. It seems to be an Araucana or Ameraucana hen. My sense of touch is enhanced. I vividly feel weight and motion as I try to make sure that the hen does not hurt herself by quickly jumping or flapping her wings.

Our black-and-white cat (Franco) eventually emerges from the hallway. He jumps up on the table and bites into the back of the hen. This alarms me because I know he will probably kill it. I try to push him back and I whack my hand over the animals, but our chicken is taken to the floor by our cat.

I get the odd impression that I may have accidentally detached either the hen’s head or the cat’s in an attempt to separate them, or possibly both are severely injured. I am not sure what to do, as our two pets may both be lost. I get the impression that a griffin will be the result of this situation though possibly weak until fed, as it is lying on its side, looking a bit fatigued.

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What does it mean to dream of a griffin? At the core level, a griffin is a flight symbol. A flight symbol is rendered in a dream in subliminal anticipation of the hypnopompic waking start. Additionally, a griffin is a mix of unrelated animals, which is likely to be a unique precursor factor of the coalescence of the preconscious and emergent consciousness.

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Some of my other dreams that feature griffins (links): (1) Griffin vs. Grandfather Clock, (2) R Brand, (3) Malfunctioning Griffin Game, (4) The Temple and the Tomb

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Morning of October 7, 2015. Wednesday.



Walking in an unknown town, my wife Zsuzsanna and I go into an unfamiliar grocery store. The store’s entrance is directly adjacent to the public sidewalk and city street. Firstly, I am looking at jars of pickles that I contemplate buying for Zsuzsanna. The lid somehow comes off one jar when I tip it to try to find the label. There does not seem to be one and I get the impression it is from an individual who sells wholesale to the store. Two pickles fall to the floor. I consider buying the jar out of a vague sense of responsibility to the store owner, as no one else would buy the jar if they knew, but I instead put the pickles back and pretend that nothing happened. Instead of a shelf, the large pickle jars, about five of them, are in a wooden display as in the vegetables section. Each pickle is about as high as the jar, about five to a jar, arranged vertically.

I start pushing a shopping cart through the aisles of the store. An unknown girl who works there is standing in one aisle, the last aisle on one side of the store and the most distant from the entrance. We talk for a short time as I soon realize that instead of shelves, the sides of the aisle feature random pieces of plywood nailed up, all similar in size, some yellowish and some white, at least one piece looking like it was borrowed from a sign. Looking around, I do not see any shelves or areas with any food and become annoyed.

Zsuzsanna and I leave the store without buying anything. A few unfamiliar people, seemingly homeless, start following us. They are friendly but somewhat sickly looking. A female of perhaps fifty asks me if I can help her. I put my hand near her forehead, though not touching it, moving my hand about as if to “detect” anything that might be wrong with her.

She starts to faint, though I push her back so that she does not fall in my direction. After a short time, I tell her that she needs more Vitamin A. I tell her that she needs to start eating tomatoes to become healthier and fix whatever problems she may have. She seems very happy after I tell her this. A friendly cheerful male smiles upon hearing my suggestion and then adds to our conversation by talking about lentils, which is what he thought I had been talking about (rather than tomatoes). I am annoyed but I decide not to correct him as that might make him feel embarrassed by his inattentiveness. Zsuzsanna and I walk to a larger grocery store without them following us as I begin to wake.

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• Why jars of pickles? It seems to be phallic symbolism and a feature being in water is a real-time indicator of being asleep. I may be subliminally contemplating sexuality, which is otherwise inactive in this particular dream segment.
• Why do two pickles fall to the floor? Either superfluous redundancy or an association with two adult males living in our house; our oldest son and me.
• Where is the preconscious factor? I could not find it until I realized that looking at the jar of pickles made me think of Vlasic Pickles, and the mascot is a cartoon stork (flight symbol that “drops a baby from its beak”; subliminal anticipation of the hypnopompic mechanism)
• Why does the unfamiliar homeless female begin to faint? Because she is The Sleeper in this particular dream; a real-time indicator of being asleep.
• Why tomatoes? Tomatoes are associated with the color red and red represents waking priority. It is curious that my dream self (personified subconscious) subliminally initialized it rather than the preconscious.
• Why lentils? Lentils can look like the lens of the human eye, which is possibly a subliminal REM indicator.
• Why vitamin A? This may be a literal factor in the unfamiliar female being symbolic of Zsuzsanna, a possible precognitive thread of when Zsuzsanna is older and may need more vitamin A (though through normal food, not vitamin pills, which many consider dangerous).
• Is there any additional real influence? The unknown empty grocery store area with the plywood nailed up is based on the closure of a small local grocery store in August 2014. It had a similar unusual mood and there were areas of the store eventually blocked in a similar unlikely way while it was still open to the public. Also, Zsuzsanna remains on my left throughout this dream, the same orientation that we are in bed at the time.

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Morning of October 3, 2015. Saturday.



I seem to be younger and living with my parents again, though I do not feel that much like a child in my dream. (I am not sure where we are living. It seems vaguely like the Stadcor Street house where my wife Zsuzsanna and I lived years ago with our two oldest children.) My mother is also present and is concerned about my father.

My father (deceased February 14, 1979) is home early from his work in construction. He has his shirt off and is in pain because of a large creature wrapped around his abdomen as well as being partly inside his stomach. Apparently, it is some sort of very large tapeworm or parasite but actually looks like a sea snake. It is wrapped around at least three times in horizontal layers and there is a section that goes inside his abdomen. He sits on the bed and seems in distress. He appears as he did perhaps in 1960 (or even the late 1950s before I was born).

I start to contemplate why he waited so long to consider having it removed. Now it would be more difficult than ever to have it removed due to its large size. I think about how they would have to put the creature to sleep before removing all of it. The imagery is very clear and continues for at least (seemingly) fifteen minutes. It does not seem it will be fatal, though it does seem to be painful and devitalizing to put up with such a problem. I consider how my father could have gotten around and done his work with that creature there all the time. Apparently, it has only started to worsen recently, as it has gotten bigger.

At one point, the creature’s head seems to be disconnected but is somehow still alive and clamped on, though I still get the impression that it will soon die from having its head detached.

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Although a snake typically biologically symbolizes the raw RAS waking trigger (likely the case with all primates), it depends on the dream. In this case, it is a rendering of my own intestinal discomfort, of which a snake has represented since early childhood. My father has been validated to represent my waking life status as me being a father in a number of cases (including in prescient dreams most often related to health), more so only as I have gotten older. Due to their shape and coiling, snakes have direct associations with the human intestine (and bowel discomfort and cramps - as well as quite obvious associations with human waste, which both I and another boy dreamt specifically of in childhood), which is even more obvious in this dream, as the creature was almost the same as an “external intestine” in its appearance. However, this is certainly not always the case. (For example, in one dream, a snake served as a frayed electrical cord warning and in a more recent dream, served as a warning to have our electricity off when it began to rain inside our house after the roof was torn off. In another case it was validated to symbolize a human umbilical cord.)

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Edited for clarity on Tuesday, 2 January 2018.

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Morning of September 27, 2015. Sunday.



I am walking around in the dark in an unusual version of our old apartment on Duffy Street, the layout of which seems doubled somehow. I hear Zsuzsanna saying something about some sort of noise and I am not sure what is going on. My awareness of my walking in the dark is quite vivid and accurate. Eventually however, I reach a door, which seems to be the back door from the garage area that goes out into the shared courtyard. When I go out, I note nothing unexpected (even though it is completely fictional).

There is a miniature railway running through the courtyard, adjacent to the back of our apartment building. Behind the other apartment is an older male (of perhaps about sixty) on a miniature locomotive. I recognize that there is a miniature locomotive on my side parked farther back on the small railroad tracks on our side (though I have no memory of having used it recently). There are also a few items around it, possibly chairs and a container of some sort.

There are two sets of tracks running parallel behind our area, becoming one between our apartment and the unknown male’s, with the outermost track arcing towards our building and joining his one track. Thus, when he rides the locomotive towards our area, he turns onto the other track rather than being close to the back of our apartment, but still goes into our part of the courtyard. It is quite vivid and interesting and again, it does not come to mind that this is a completely fictional setup.

My wife Zsuzsanna and our youngest son come out from our back door to see what is going on. The man seems to be in the process of moving a large box or something to the other side of the building just past our side, where apparently the street runs perpendicular to the edge of the tracks (and where the tracks just stop or are truncated). It may be very early in the morning before sunrise, or still fairly late at night. There is enough light to see all the interesting detail, I assume from street lights and lights that shine into the courtyard from the back of the building.

The male on the locomotive seems to be coordinating an effort with a younger male (of about thirty at the most) on the street to our left, to move at least one large box that was apparently put near the outer track earlier. The younger male is straddling a miniature Formula One racing car and sort of going back and forth (backwards and forwards) along the street without turning, seemingly on foot power alone (though the car is possibly also moving with a motor of some kind). He seems to be doing this due to other traffic on the street now and then, to narrowly avoid being hit by the normal cars.

Unfortunately, he seems to somehow get blocked off at one point (from normal cars in both directions, I think) as we are watching and somehow gets knocked backwards off his toy Formula One car and pulled away in the other direction (possibly from something sticking out the side of the bed of a passing pickup truck), somehow causing his left foot (which is somehow torn off near the bottom of the car) to remain near the car, shoe and all, as he screams in surprise and ends up lying on his back (being dragged a short distance) in the opposite direction of our apartment. There is blood, but not a lot. I push my youngest son back towards the back door as he starts to move more out towards the courtyard, as I do not want him to see the bizarre accident. Zsuzsanna holds his shoulders so he does not run off.

I get the impression that the younger male could have turned off to the right into the courtyard, but that the box they were going to move was in the way.

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People who believe in “dream interpretation” in the way the term is often used seem to wholly lack the understanding of biologically premonitory hypnopompia, which I have experienced once or twice, every day, for over fifty years, though I still find the thousands of unique resultant dreams as fascinating. In this case, my dream transitioned to align with a spontaneous jab in my ankle to “explain”, by irrelevant fiction, what the “cause” was, projecting it onto a different dream character. Such physical effects are involuntary and based on unconscious dynamics and to assign “interpretation” is pointless. This is unfortunate, because some dreams also have incredible levels of prescience. For example, I married my “dream girl” over a lifetime of very specific clues about her, including everything from her birthplace to her birthday to her name and exact appearance, even the unlikely mixed Hungarian and Australian accent. What is not literal prescience is more likely to be restricted to the dynamics of dreaming and waking, not that hard to grasp in my experience. The train for example, represents the emergent consciousness, and the pattern of increasing neural activity in the waking stage. What is even more obvious is the link to the pickup truck bed as being part of the accident scene, and the play on “bed”, as my foot being near the end of our bed as I am sleeping.

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Morning of September 25, 2015. Friday.



This is dream five of six relating to clearer dreams of this date.

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An unfamiliar cat had been injured, possibly by being hit by a car, though the injuries are not extensive. I am able to heal the cat with the miraculous healing abilities of the dream state (with non-lucid dream control, my dream self not aware of it being a dream).

The cat’s presence is vivid, with clear perceptions of purring and movement, including my enhanced sense of touch when I pet it. The cat lies near the center of our bed as I move my hands about above its body and mentally affirm its health and well-being. (This bed is presumably in our present home as my dream’s setting yet is in the wrong location by association, seemingly where the narrow wall between the south side of the kitchen and the small hallway to the back door is, though my dreams have never rendered the exact same setting, of which are typically unique new composites.)

My wife Zsuzsanna brings in another unfamiliar cat. This cat seems to have died from possibly being hit by a car, as at least one back leg (possibly both) is missing and there is blood. Still, I move my hands about and above it and it apparently comes back to life. It moves slightly and purrs and meows. I can see it breathing. It does not seem fully aware, so I continue with my healing affirmations.

Soon, at least one back leg grows back, the bone expanding firstly. However, the bone continues to grow until it becomes a miniature elk horn. This is unexpected. I am concerned about how the cat will get around. Another miniature elk horn grows from where the other back leg would otherwise be. I am not sure what to do or how to continue, yet I do not want to end the animal’s life even though it is in such a strange condition at this point. I can resurrect dead animals in this dream, but in this case, the essence of other animals that have died become a part of it, as I assume that an elk had been hit and killed by the same car that had killed this cat. It may also grow wings, though still will not be able to walk or roost properly. I am unsure what to do, though I become vaguely aware that I am dreaming. It remains somewhat misshapen as my dream fades.

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Key points:

• Although some healing dreams relate to actual healing energies and a more viable focus or intent, they also sometimes result from simply achieving more awareness of the physical body in the waking transition.
• Resurrection has occurred in many past dreams since early childhood and in some cases, is based on becoming more aware of my real physical body’s breathing in contrast to my fictitious dream self’s body, therefore, in many cases, it is a simple factor of the emergent consciousness.
• Cats are associated with higher liminal space (between dreaming and waking) for a number of reasons, including the idea they “always land on their feet” (waking transition inner ear dynamics, that is, linked to the falling sensation that commonly occurs with waking and is purely biological). I associate cats with being most active at night and linked more to circadian rhythms symbolism of the dream state. They sit on a fence, the division between dreaming and waking. They are said to be “guardians” of the “underworld” (dream state analogy).
• In this case, the antlers (growing from where the cat’s legs would otherwise be) seem to be a metaphor for expanding neural energies (in real time in growing more aware in the waking transition), which are required to wake and use the physical body to walk, especially as the common preconscious embodiment is not otherwise present in this dream. This is easily proven by looking at a human anatomy chart to see the imagery is the same as from my dream. The dream state indicator of the bed (usually just the subliminal awareness of being asleep) additionally validates the overall meaning as does Zsuzsanna’s presence near the bed (as we sleep together).
• Interestingly, this dream also had the typical prescient layer (as the majority of my dreams have had since earliest memory, in fact, the main reason I developed an interest in recording them). One of our cats in real life, Franco (though which did not look like the cat in this dream) somehow injured his back leg and was not able to walk normally again, having damaged the muscles and nerves (which curiously did not seem to bother him as he got around as fast as ever, though I have never seen this happen to any other cat I have had in my lifetime.) Thus, even when a dream can be metaphorically analogous to the dream state itself and fully explained as such, some of the dynamics may still be literally precognitive, as I have found out thousands of times since early childhood.

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Morning of September 24, 2015. Thursday.




Firstly in my dream, I seem to be living in the Stadcor Street house in Brisbane, but it eventually transforms into a much larger structure that seems partly embedded in a mountain, as there are rooms that are like caves later on. Prior to the shifting setting change, there is a young male that appears to have some sort of medical problem. He claims to have a toothache that is supposedly related to a headache even though the “headache” (the source being near the top of his head and related to a protruding blood vein) is somehow in his jaw. The male reminds me of a younger version of my wife’s brother George (Gyorgy). I ask him if I can help in any way, but he seems more annoyed by the present living arrangements than his continuous pain and potential nearing demise.

There are two other people in the house who may be younger versions of two of our children (oldest son and daughter). At one point, I teach some Russian, but it is mainly only two rows of audio-based prompts on a computer screen and primarily relates to pronouns, including variations of “I” and “me”; “ya”, “menya”, and “mne”. Over time, I become aware of there being more people around.

There is seemingly a nuclear explosion in the distance, but very loud in my dream’s immediate setting. When I look out, however, it looks quite odd, like narrow clustered columns of pink and orange smoke rising high into the sky in the distance, right on the horizon (from an unknown city). This seems to mean that modern society, for the most part, no longer exists. I notice our home seems to be isolated and within a composite of desert and meadow, with no signs of any other buildings. However, I still hear several dogs barking at the distant explosion, which almost seems to be a good sign.

We now live in an unusual composite of large cave and house, though with a layout somewhat like a shopping mall, with a public court and an additional adjoining building or group of buildings. Someone (unknown) says that the monster can now leave - which relates to the nuclear event somehow or the fact that there are not many people left in the world for it to terrorize. A door is opened somewhere in the cave-building that had kept the monster trapped, and the front door to outside is also opened. The “monster” leaves on its own accord after randomly wandering through various rooms to find its way out. It looks like an ordinary warthog as it passively walks out the main entrance. There is no threat or drama or concern of any kind at all at this point.

Later, I go to another building (part of the same settlement) and wander through the halls. I warily notice an unusual lump and weight pulling down the skin of my left forearm as well as minor burns and scabs. I realize I have something inside my arm. I carefully shuffle the hard object forward and out through the scar on my wrist (from my accident as a toddler) and it is a rectangular piece of thin metal, almost as wide as my wrist. Another similar object comes out after, which is like partly reflective glass of a similar size and shape (possibly part of a small mirror). The sensations and progressive movement are extraordinary “realistic” (though possibly more like pushing something under a shirt sleeve out through the cuff as I do not feel much pain). I feel my arm to make sure no other objects are in it. I “realize” that this probably happened when I was sleeping on a bed full of junk and the objects somehow got into my arm without me noticing until now (which is of course, a false memory as I do not sleep on a bed full of metallic junk, sharp objects, and wires as implied).



I go back and give the objects (and a few other bits of junk I found in the building) to the leader of the settlement (who seems to be actor Clancy Brown). At this point I tell him how the objects perhaps grew inside me somehow with regard to chemicals in the air, perhaps. He seems only mildly interested in the event but still wants everything I have. As we walk through a doorway back into the building (no longer with cave features) I had been staying in, I see two fancy car keys lying on the floor just inside the doorway with some apparently discarded documents. They have an atypical appearance; other than somewhat floral regarding the shape on one end, very slightly paperclip-like in part of the form only. I consider that if I pick them up and keep them for myself, the leader might not like it when he finds out, so I point them out saying, “look at those keys”. The leader says, rather egotistically, “I’ll just take these keys”. His behavior brings mild amusement. He then asks me what year they are from as if that is important and I say “1961” but then consider that “1961” might actually be a serial number unrelated to the date (though do not mention this). (The imagery is curious, as the number looks the same right-side-up as it does upside-down.)

In the final scene, I am sitting in a hall with several others of various ages. One (unknown) teenage girl in the opposite corner (opposite an implied perpendicular continuation of the hall) starts complaining about everything in a pessimistic and defeatist rant, and, even though there are only about a hundred people left on the planet, I tell her that I do not want to listen to her “f–ked up fantasies” (in the sense that they are negative and of no use, including trivial gossip and pointless opinions of others in the hall). From here, I feel cheerful and completely optimistic and ignore her otherwise depressing prattle, especially as I get the impression there will be a self-sustaining community expanding soon.

Morning of September 21, 2015. Monday.



This is a long dream with a clear and maintained perspective, though never lucid. I am in Brazil and speaking Brazilian Portuguese throughout, though there is also a consistent awareness that everything translates into English in “real time”. It starts out in a slum near some markets at the top of a higher hill though I eventually find my way to a different area where a Caucasian male (probably in his early thirties) is attempting to sell a pickup truck to an older Brazilian male. I interrupt their conversation, saying that I can sell him the truck he needs. I tell him to wait where he is and I will bring it around (from behind a building at an intersection). No truck exists yet, though I know I can just manifest one and sell it to him (again, even though I have no lucid awareness).

I go to an area out of sight from the other males and see at least one outdoor cafe. There are a lot of people around. I mentally focus and a dark blue pickup truck appears, and some people are somewhat surprised. I drive it back the short distance to the other males and show it to the potential buyer. He seems interested but I tell him I have another one I can show him. It seems important that the truck can be driven on an incline and this vehicle may not be powerful enough.

I go around and mentally will another pickup truck into existence. This one is smaller and of an orange color but it is a newer model than the previous. When I take it to the potential buyer though, the bed is apparently too small to hold as much as he needs it to. I then remember that modern new products are not only not made very well (or made to last very long), but that there has been a problematic trend towards miniaturization of everything. I tell him that I will go and bring back a third pickup truck which I am sure he will find suitable.

I go around to the cafe area again to create a pickup truck out of thin air for the third time. This one is a red one from the 1950s. When I bring it around (being careful not to hit any of the obstacles coming out of the parking lot and into the street again), I notice that instead of a cab, the front now looks a bit like an oversized steering area of my old Red Flyer wagon and the seating area is external. Still, I am able to control it and steer it without falling off the front, though it is an odd way to drive a vehicle, almost reminiscent of a stage coach. The potential buyer looks at the bed and I notice a lot of pillow stuffing in the back covered partly with an old worn dark green tarpaulin. This seems a bit annoying and is evidence it had been used a lot previously, but after a few minutes, the older male wants to buy it, because it is large enough and useful, and he needs one right away to carry on with his jobs. He asks me how much and I say “a hundred and fifty dollars”. He pays me in Brazilian Real. His son gives it to him and he gives it to me. It is in a small thin envelope that looks like it may hold airplane tickets instead.

At this point, the other male that was first trying to sell him a truck looks at me and says that he cannot believe it, though he does not seem angry. He probably wonders where I got all the trucks. I have a slight concern that the people on the other side of the buildings will reveal that my trucks came out of nowhere like magic, which may bring about confusion or gossip. I decide to leave the region for now.

From here, my dream shifts, though remains in the same general setting. There are soon many more people around. I am aware of an unknown female of about forty holding a penknife up to her throat as she is walking around. It seems she may be intent on committing suicide as well as perhaps infecting other people with her blood and I know that I need to be away from any blood spray, though nothing actually happens and I am able to leave the area without incident.

There are some curious plays on lucid dreaming (even though I am not lucid at any point) and sleep in this dream. Firstly, there is the creation of three vehicles to drive (out of mind power alone) that even have “beds”. The last truck’s bed even has pillow stuffing under a cover (which I do not even catch represents the sleeping process itself). The “interpretation” is, that although I am creating vehicles to steer out of nothing (with the enhanced change and focus on the Red Flyer’s steering section), I still do not become lucid even when my dream relates to metaphorically “driving the bed”. I find this dream very amusing, including with the “Brazilian Real” as the currency used. One hundred and fifty dollars relates to Dunbar’s number. “By using the average human brain size and extrapolating from the results of primates, he (Dunbar) proposed that humans can only comfortably maintain 150 stable relationships”. The small envelope that looks like it is for airplane tickets probably is a nod to the waking process (or leaving my dream). I am not sure about the woman at the end unless she simply represents cutting off the dream state.

Morning of September 13, 2015. Sunday.



This is a long meandering dream of watching a fictional spin-off to the television series “Lost”, which is not the first time this has happened, and resultant dreams always have baffling inconsistent plots.

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My wife Zsuzsanna and family and I are apparently living in a new unique version of my Cubitis home. This time, the layout is similar to reality, but an additional design is implemented. The original layout is rotated one-hundred-eighty degrees and then superimposed on the original so that there is a hallway to the northwest as well as to the southeast. Of all my dreams set in Cubitis since 1968, this is the first time this particular distortion has been rendered as far as I know. The television is near the center of the room and we are facing mostly north while watching it, but holographic projections of the characters emerge at times and although they do not interact with us, they seem like a “real” presence now and then. (The albino ones vaguely remind me of the supposed alien energy beings on “Under the Dome”.)

This version of “Lost” has the original characters appear as children and focuses more on adventures they had while growing up, seemingly in a rural area. The main focus is on Hugo “Hurley” Reyes and the child version of him even has unusual sideburns. There also seem to be very unusual young albino versions of all the characters (who interact with the original characters) though who may be connected to some sort of experiment as they seem more like less-defined waves of energy at one point, or almost like suspended chalky vibrant water taking on human form. At one point, the characters are “real” and mostly to the right of my armchair in a small group facing my direction. They are talking to an adult who was not in the original show; a young black female detective.

There are two scenes in which an adult John Locke (Terry O'Quinn) is killed. It surprises me that they killed off a main character (so thus my actual memory of the series is truly lacking in my dream). One scene involves him lying on his back over a bed of nails submerged in the middle of a fast-flowing river. Another scene involves him falling through the floor of some sort of unusual room and also dying, due to enemies on the island finding him and pulling a special lever in the cave-like room.

There are a lot of random distractions in the various scenes and no cohesive plot of any kind for the most part. John Locke, I reason, must be being continuously cloned (or otherwise somehow “copied”) for him to die more than once.

Finally, the episode is drawing to a close (and it really did seem like an entire hour and perhaps even longer) and Zsuzsanna and I are ready to go to bed. Oddly, however, I “remember” or come to “realize” that Terry O'Quin is staying with us. I have this clear idea in my mind on asking him about what I had just seen (as I do not seem to recall all of it, at least precisely). I especially want to know about some other trends to be appearing on the show. I see him approaching our living room from the south hallway.

I speak clearly to him, “How many times did you die in this episode. Two? Or three?” He says in a friendly respectful manner that he had died twice in the episode that Zsuzsanna and I had just watched. I start to ask him about other details of the series. At this point he raises his left index finger vertically up to his lips as if to “shush” me, but also grins in a very friendly manner. He apparently does not want to reveal any upcoming surprises concerning the show. I also realize that he just wants to get some sleep. He then does an exaggerated tiptoe walk to the (fictional) north hallway and I see for the first time that he is wearing a woman’s silky teal-colored nightgown that comes to just above his knees. I see this as a little unusual, but I start to wake after this.

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Yet again, my dream reflects precognitive and shared associations (remember that I do not always include this in online versions as it happens continuously and it would take up too much time for me to indicate each and every event from day to day), in the loose and impersonal manner they usually do. In this case, just as I was writing this, Zsuzsanna tells me of a show with kids and one old man in a dress who resembled Terry O'Quin and even did the exact same mannerism with the “shushing” gesture.

Morning of September 12, 2015. Saturday.



I have not posted that many infestation dreams, though I have had several per year since early childhood. It usually involves unusual unique-looking (but problematic) bugs getting into the house as well as mice in some versions.

In this case, our house is somewhat unidentified. It resembles our present one in some ways but seems to have features of our last home (on Barolin Street) as well.

The main scene involves large velvet ants crawling up one corner of a wall and mostly remaining near the ceiling, making a trail through the house, and going out through another corner. I spray them with a can of insecticide a few times (not that worried about the spray going back into my face), but this only seems to work near the end of my dream. There is also a point at which only one gets on my arm and latches on and I pinch it and pull it off. The sensations are quite realistic.

There are also some sort of unusual beetles (which can fly) in a fictional back room, approaching a doorway in a line, crawling over the top of some sort of built-in table or counter-top (though the room is like a large storage area). Eventually, I spray the middle of their main line and they stop forming larger groups.

Near the end of my dream, I notice large groups of different-colored mice in our living room. They are grouped by color. (A group of mice is apparently called “a mischief of mice”, though that is just a bit too silly to implement in my writing.) A large group of green mice crawls about to the right and red and blue units are to the left. There is also a smaller group of yellow mice in the foreground. For some reason, this strange scene does not trigger any degree of lucidity regardless of the intense vividness of the bug presence. In fact, it is rather “pretty” though still inherently problematic. There must be at least two hundred or more mice. Suddenly, as if just seeing me as a threat for the first time, they scramble, making a thunderous noise (and shaking the house itself) as they go off in divisions of their particular color and as I get the impression they are going back into the walls of our house. I am not too concerned, as I just do not want them inside the rooms of our house.

Dreams like this are often caused by being temporarily annoyed by people (though sometimes caused by fasting in too cold or too hot weather); in this case, an NBN worker hanging around close to our house all day (thanks to the NBN cabinet that was installed right near our house without any notice, right in the middle of the footpath - how stupid) and playing a car radio from prior to sunrise, the vehicle actually parked on our footpath as if he cannot walk that couple of extra feet when leaving the area. (I honestly do not know what is wrong with these people other than being completely thoughtless with no seeming respect for residents or any responsibility for their presence or unwarranted and unjust impositions or actions.)

Morning of September 10, 2015. Thursday.



Last updated Sunday, 27 September 2015: I added a rough map with textual corrections, as past online versions of this entry did not describe the correct directional orientation. I offer my apologies and I thank you for your interest in my extensive and meticulous dream work.

The outdoor setting in my dream is of a fictional layout (though with known familiar features in the wrong place), and yet, it is somehow the “same” area I supposedly lived on King Street in the 1980s. The King Street boarding house, rather than being on the corner, is moved in my dream about one large lot westerly from the corner. This alteration, to my knowledge, has never occurred as such in any dream. That is, to my knowledge (and extensive dream records), I have never dreamt about (or ever imagined while awake as far as I recall) the King Street boarding house being anywhere but on a corner of an intersection (and usually in the correct location except for a few dreams where it seemed more westward relative to the rest of La Crosse).

I am with Leonard S, the Polish pinhead (and unlike Schlitzie, who was also male, Leonard always dressed in men’s clothing). Usually when he appears in a dream (at least over the past twenty years), it is an ordinary conversation or experience somewhat enhanced with a cheerful mood. This time, I am reminiscing over when I first met him, though there does not seem to be a back story regarding my implied age as he himself looks as he did around 1980, perhaps even a few years younger (possibly looking as he did before I met him in real life). However, the “memory” is entirely fictional. I talk to him about when I supposedly found a toy soldier buried in the ground in the empty lot to the left of the boarding house when looking southward (and as already stated, this layout did not exist in reality), near the southwest corner of the lot, just before I met him. I apparently soon gave it “back” to him (assuming he had lost it, though perhaps he deliberately buried it - this is not certain). He does not seem confused or annoyed over this faux memory and my telling of it. Most of what I relate seems fairly “realistic” until I wake.

I visualize the empty lot, which seems to be at night. Much of the front of the boarding house itself looks similar otherwise. In the majority of dreams concerning Leonard, he often seemed of near-average intelligence. In real life, though, he would do a lot of unusual things, such as, upon seeing a girl, shout “Puddytat! Foooooos!” and would paw the air. Still, he was friendlier, more outgoing, and more generous than a lot of normal people.

Morning of September 9, 2015. Wednesday.



I am apparently at a department of education building, possibly in Brisbane, but it is more like my old school in Arcadia. However, the building may actually be at least four storeys high or more, though I think we are on the top floor. There also seem to be classes held at times or at least meetings, mostly with eighteen-year-olds and up. I am with my wife Zsuzsanna in one of the rooms and I start to work on a subtraction program for our two youngest sons to enhance their speed in general mathematics. Over time, I am actually able to read and resolve the code, but I still do not feel it is perfect, as I want to make sure there are no errors in how the digits are presented and such in columns (though I still want the randomization to be reasonable).

My wife and I seem to be the only people in the building at first at one point (though I sensed our two youngest sons were there earlier), as I sense it is late at night and the building has mostly been locked for the night. However, at least one other person, an obnoxious young Ivy Leaguer from Yale of about twenty years old (who seems a fictional associate or old classmate at one point, though I never went to Yale) is in the building, but is causing problems with the building’s security as well as possibly damaging or altering cache copies of extensive records and educational reports and administration feedback and with the seeming goal of replacing important information with mindless gossip about each and every teacher and student. He is even putting glitches in the calculus programs and altering images and data in civics and sociology programs. I decide to alter the building’s computer system and block access to the internal workings of the building and all the records. This is unusual in that the building itself is like a computer relative to software-driven doors, lights, elevator functions, and many other features. It is as if everything in the building is somehow linked to computer software (though seemingly not voice-driven).

The pad for the main building’s system looks like Windows calculator. I falsely “remember” a special function that does not cause the building to “self-destruct” but to cause total confusion for clueless intruders and would-be vandals. I enter the Qword DEAD C0DE 0BAD FEED as a hexadecimal input (with of course the “0” being a zero as the letters only go from A to F, thus why it is called hexadecimal - for the six letters). This causes random byte values to be placed in random buffers all over the building in every software-driven section, similar to the “poke” command on old Commodore 64 computers (though in this case does not breach the internal records, which are all backed up in non-adjacent systems). Various lights go off and on randomly and even random doors open and close. This seems to all be taking place on at least the third floor at this point.

After awhile, the unknown male comes out of a room and seems annoyed. He tells me that all this chaos will alert the authorities (or possibly even randomly trigger an alarm). He seems to think I am “with” him, but my wife and I just want him out and then we will leave the building. He apparently thinks it is amusing to disrupt the educational and social progress of people of all ages (including children). When we are walking in a hall, I push him into a malfunctioning elevator that is halfway between floors but the fall does not injure him that badly. This scene is the most vivid and realistic part of my dream, though I am not lucid at any point. (This also now triggers a memory of when my sister Marilyn used to say “his elevator doesn’t go to the top floor” when talking about an annoying or less-intelligent person.)

From here, I notice some sort of meeting being held in one classroom, which I can see through the glass walls and horizontal darker zebrawood beams on the other side of the hall from the elevator. The speaker is an older lady with gray hair and somewhat stocky (she does not look at all familiar in any way). She seems very friendly and responsive. I ask her if there are any authorities in the building but at this point, things seem to be getting back to normal as it seems the intruder has left the building (or possibly already caught by security guards or police), which has rebooted itself with one of the random values triggering the reboot function. My wife and I go to the first floor.

Just prior to us walking from the building into the late night (or very early morning), I notice we are completely undressed. I am not even sure how and when that happened. Perhaps one of the random values triggered the erasing of our clothes, but that is only a very vague and very brief contemplation. I pull a thin bed sheet seemingly out of nowhere (out of the air itself, it seems) to cover myself as we walk home, feeling quite happy at this point.

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Morning of September 9, 2015. Wednesday.



In the first part of my dream, which does not flow directly into the next scenes, I am on stage playing a flute for a seemingly long time; a very long version of “For My Lady” (from Seventh Sojourn from 1972, which I had on cassette for a number of years) and I seem to actually be performing with The Moody Blues. From here, I eventually fly from the stage into an (at first) unknown region.

I decide to walk for awhile. Eventually, I seem to be in an undesirable part of town. For some reason, an unknown male approaches me. I first think that his intent is to rob me, so I say how I know (I think) someone named Tony, who apparently leads a group of gangsters. I had never met this person, but the other male walks back to his apartment building, taking me along in a friendly manner.

When we reach the building and the small room which is somewhat kitchen-like, there is a young gangster in a T-shirt who is smoking and who is apparently the leader. He is seated on a small wooden chair. A burly male stands by another door. Oddly, the leader seems to acknowledge me as “David”, which the other male calls me as if that is my actual name (though I can tell he does not remember me - though also can sense he accepts me as someone he knew years ago). I get a vague impression that David was the human name of the Incredible Hulk, but it is not pertinent to any aspect of my dream. I really do not want to hang around these people so I make the excuse that I will leave and do a “hit” for them, as the leader seems to be broke and the idea of a “hit” is supposedly to get money (rather than just kill someone) and not necessarily kill the person you are robbing.

I leave and eventually reach the front of the building. Unexpectedly, the “staircase” is made of old pieces of railroad ties that were split in half and are arranged downward like a diagonal crooked ladder rather than steps. I have to climb down, which is somewhat annoying, trying on both my stomach and in crab position. Two very happy young Jamaican boys (probably only about three years old) are also playing on the diagonal ladder on my left and climbing down. I have a bit of concern for them, as the structure eventually goes down into seemingly deep water. An immensely overweight Jamaican woman is on my right and has to climb over me to get to her children but it is not that problematic and there is no drama. Humorously, now is the time I pick to fly up and away, rather than having done it from the top of the problematic faux staircase.

From here, I fly north down Tenth Street, past the King Street boarding house on the corner and to my left, flying about five feet from the ground. Someone shouts as if annoyed, so I fly much higher, but then fly back down to about ten feet from the street. Eventually, I think about visiting relatives, but soon realize that most of my relatives in this region have died. I fly past an unfamiliar bakery (which is on my right) where there is a red-haired girl visible through the large front windows and seemingly taking something out of a large oven, possibly muffins or cookies. I wave absentmindedly and she waves back but does not seem that friendly. I somehow think it is Anita (who never had red hair) but then I realize it is my wife’s younger half-sister Leila, who we have not seen in years (and she has never been to America as far as I know). I continue to fly on and upward and then decide that I should fly back home so I can “finally” wake up (even though I had not been actively lucid at any point). I am glad to wake up and be “back” with my wife and family.

Morning of September 7, 2015. Monday.



This dream may have partly been influenced by briefly thinking about the number nine due to reading and checking an older entry and how, on one (symbolic) imagery level, it is like a seed growing a root.

My wife Zsuzsanna and our children and I are in Cubitis, at the north side of my childhood home and near the edge of the carport, more towards the driveway on the west end. I plant some seeds along the perimeter (where my mother sometimes had a garden in real life but mostly red canna lilies and coleus blumei). Surprisingly, they start to grow almost immediately. My wife’s mother is there in the background but her behavior is not problematic, oddly enough.

There are three types of plants that rapidly grow (so fast, we have to move out of the way), one being watermelon, though the watermelons grow nearly as big as a person and taste like strawberries (though otherwise they look like watermelon). Another type is like cabbage but unrealistic in that the leaves are more like spinach and in thick layers (as if stacked and compressed into the spherical form). Still, I eat my way through half a head and the flavor is actually enjoyable. The other type is dragon fruit, but it grows quite tall and the fruit hangs down more from the top of the plant, being reminiscent of a bent-over street light. The dragon fruit imagery gives me a very vague impression (though not really enough to focus much on it in that light in-dream) of the “neck” and “head” of the 1953 “War of the Worlds” spaceship design.