non-lucid

Morning of July 22, 2015. Wednesday.



This title is not that relevant - as the cat itself does not glow, but for some reason it just came into my head as the title (and who am I to “argue” with self-titling excursions into the surreal).

Yet again my dream alters the features and layouts of real locations. This time our bed that is in real life in what would otherwise be the dining room (head to the west) is now in the front computer room, which is adjacent to our older children’s rooms; the head to the east (though feasible, not that likely to be as such - especially as our oldest son’s room has a window in his wall into the room). At the same time, the computer desk is near the window (where the bed was).

I “realize” that I am at 611 North Monroe Street (in America), which I rarely dream about anymore, especially considering I have not lived there since early 1968 (before moving to Cubitis off Highway Seventeen). My cat Tiger (long gone in reality), an orange tabby, is walking about. I “realize” that I am about seven years old but am concerned that Tiger has stepped in paint and is tracking it around the room. He is hesitant and shaking each leg in rotation, just as in reality when a cat steps in questionable liquid. However, the footprints are like a light and almost like a “hole” as well, somehow.

I “remember” after the tracks are giving off an annoying amount of light, that I can “turn off the footprints” (that is, anything glowing in the room) with a special light switch. I move my hand around to feel for it but cannot find it. I vaguely also recall (real memory) that there is a stack of about six or seven comic books on the left side of the toilet tank in the bathroom and am wondering if they will be knocked into the toilet as a result of the cat’s actions. I am trying to remember if this already happened at a previous time and if as such they had been there for several days thus far (which makes no sense of course).

The cat walks up the wall, leaving an even pattern of footprints (which start to look more like upright five-pointed stars than cat paw prints), almost to the ceiling. “Come down from there,” I command. The animal comes down and starts purring very loudly on my chest but seems eventually to be my own breathing (and likely Zsuzsanna’s as well).

My thinking falls into the slightly abstract. I realize that a “star pentagon” is not a pentagon at all but a decagon (as it has ten sides and angles, not five sides and angles). I feel a strange uneasiness over humanity being “wrong” yet again, then realize everything in the world is misnamed and misunderstood anyway, so it does not matter that much.

I approach three (unknown) girls in somewhat plain dresses (sitting on the floor in the form of a triangle for the most part) who seem to be speaking Portuguese and involved in an occult ritual. There is unexplainable luminosity in the setting. Looking more closely, I see they are actually playing Jacks. However, looking again, I see the game box looks suspiciously like some sort of ritualistic system with the box shaped like a hexagon. I then confirm this by the fact that, even though they are playing Jacks, it is on a hexagram painted carefully on the floor. Then I get annoyed once again as I realize that the “hexagram” is actually a type of dodecagon, as it has twelve angles and twelve sides, not six angles and six sides.



“No one knows what anything is,” I say calmly. One of the girls (to the left and closest to where I am standing) turns and looks at me curiously though smiles in understanding and seeming familiarity (with a vague thought she is my wife when much younger). She says, “A minha estrela guia” (“my guiding star”) and I am not sure if she means me or the game piece (Jack) she is holding. Then I realize she may not have said “A minha estrela guia” but “I’m in Australia”, which sounds the same (and it slowly dawns on me that this is yet another “missed clue” or “confirmation”, of millions, about finding Yin incarnate, yet I recall I already have).

I feel slightly nervous and enter a more luminous state of “quivering” (where the foreground and background quickly shift inversely to each other) and see a large electric fan (all white, including the blades) where the rotary keeps changing in diameter, smaller and larger, but somewhat randomly. The fan blades sometimes curve out as if in attempt to touch or at least reach me (with a perceived sense of care and compassion, not as a threat). The imagery shifts in unusual ways. Every now and then, a small narrow crocodile head emerges (again, with no sense of threat, and the mouth remains closed) horizontally and evenly from the center and is seemingly pulled back in. Other things the spinning fan blades become is a cycad palm, a sunflower, and some sort of floral kaleidoscopic design. I watch it for quite some time (with a vaguely perceived buzzing) and eventually shift into a dream where Steve J (an old classmate) and I are walking just below rafters on roof support beams and ceiling joists in a large building. The rafter patterns become more and more complex. This last part, Zsuzsanna says she also dreamt of - though she was the one walking mainly on the hanging beams (without any actual reason or prior cause to dream as such, though this shared dreaming happens fairly often). (However, I did have a lot of similar dreams when about thirteen.)

Morning of July 17, 2015. Friday.



Zsuzsanna and I are either living at or “temporarily” staying in a mostly unfamiliar large apartment on what seems to be at least the second floor (though I am not aware of any backstory to this setting). It is possibly a variation on the King Street boarding house I have not been in or even directly seen since 1990. In this case, it still seems to be oriented south of the building (or north if it is relevant to our present house) and like an opened composite of Leonard’s room (the pinhead’s), my original L-shaped room, and the front (including the shared kitchen) being brought much closer to the back of the house. Other random characters make an appearance for no seeming reason or recent reflection or association, which includes: One of our landlords from Stadcor Street (Glenn), a cocaine user I knew in my first factory job (Greg R), a couple unremembered celebrities, and a couple relatives (though not correct in appearance). My sister Marilyn (April 25, 1942-Feburary 13, 2014) is also alive again and there is something about NCIS no longer being involved in an investigation. She briefly seems to be in the same “scene” with Ralph Waite (the actor from “The Waltons”; the television series), which is similar to a dream from long before they died.

This dream utilizes a folly I have encountered in other dreams; that is, confusion with dynamics relevant to the second storey of a building in implying we are also somehow at ground level at the same time. In this case, the confusion relates to the discovery of two bodies buried side by side in the “ground” just under the floorboards (again, somehow on the second floor) in what I believe is the kitchen. Finding two bodies is not the original intent. One of my dream’s (unknown) characters pulls up a couple loose floorboards for whatever reason and from there, moves some dirt and unexpectedly uncovers the bodies, which are fairly young and boy and girl. For some reason, this does not feel as macabre as it would in real life (ironic since some dreams augment minor concerns to ridiculous extremes). Over time, I go over to the windows, look down at the street (again, now from the second storey) and have minor concern about another male (our past landlord Glenn) who is approaching and possibly will be questioned on the deaths. The NCIS associations are not that organized or seemingly relevant at the time.

The investigation is slow and uneventful, and the two bodies (minimally skeletal, as the faces are almost discernible though not recognized) remain where they are, the mound of dirt like an elongated oval embankment around them. During this time, while I am sitting back in a chair, a young girl (about six) sleeps mostly on her stomach over me though is not my real-life youngest daughter (I assume, though sometimes dreams shift time elements dramatically). The sense of touch, weight, heat, and slight movement is augmented and lifelike. After this, there is a vague confrontation in another part of the room that I am not involved with, with random characters. When the girl eventually wakes, she walks about in the room before me and makes a sarcastic comment (unremembered) to an unknown character. At this point, she resembles Elizabeth Walton (a very young Kami Cotler), but aggressively out of character and saying the other character should “honor” me (as me being her fictional father). The other character seems somewhat perplexed and not fully developed as an in-dream persona. From here, my dream falls into the abstract as the girl’s hair seems “electrified” somehow and she seems almost goddess-like or at least like a well-defined tulpa (though her characteristics becoming mostly unfamiliar again).

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A part of this dream, as is typical, comes from something I only briefly glanced at for about a second the previous day - incidentally reading how Kami Cotler used to fall asleep on Ralph Waite’s lap during filming of “The Waltons”. Then I see and realize that Ralph Waite died around the same time as my sister on February 13, 2014 - which I had not focused that much on assuming I knew it at all prior to this point (I do not really watch the news that much and far less television than most people). This is in addition to how one much older dream somehow more clearly revealed my father’s death (April 26, 1901-February 14, 1978) several years in advance (as well as several other things that did not even exist at that time, including the “Jumpman” computer game and even the same music used as its theme). I always felt in the back of my mind that this sister would somehow die on the same date (not necessarily the same year) as my father. This was before she was the one to tell me (in the middle of the night) that my father had just died. However, from my perspective (in Australia, related to the time difference) she did die on February 14th when looked at that way (which I cannot help doing). Not only that, the last episode of Season 11 of NCIS (“Honor Thy Father”) was apparently a tribute to Ralph Waite, who sometimes played Jackson Gibbs. Sometimes the layered intricacies of a particular dream tend to seriously puzzle me.

How deep does this go…Ralph Waite may additionally be a play on “wait” and Kami Cotler a play on “cot” (cot/crib/youth) and even “Waltons” may be a play on “walled in” as with one humor magazine title I saw and distinctly still remember from when I was thirteen (No. 114 of “Cracked Mazagine” - spelled as such - from January 1974). (Additional note to self; there was a memory slip between “certain” and “thirteen” for whatever reason.) On the cover, Ralph Waite is standing directly below the word “Home”. Additionally, the setting itself (concerning the imagery of the first body uncovered) was very similar to the first panel of a horror/ghost comic book story I saw years ago (possibly from around the same week or time period as the Waltons satire), which I have yet to recover in my research. Finally, the cot/crib reference is related to the fact that the dismantling (or selling) of a cot or crib accurately foreshadowed my sister’s death (and is a known precognitive metaphor for an upcoming death).

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Despite the curious recurring ambiguity of a setting implied to somehow be on the first floor and the second floor at the same time, this is relevant to how the presumed corpses, buried under the floorboards of the second floor, is a subliminal distorted perception of my sleeping body (a dream sign of the first level) and Zsuzsanna’s, who is sleeping with me at the time.

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Morning of July 15, 2015. Wednesday.



I am in a building in a public place with Zsuzsanna (in an unknown town and unfamiliar location), possibly a train station, sitting on what is somewhat like a long wooden chest though meant to be a bench near the center of the room. She is on my left. Along comes Werner Klemperer (March 22, 1920-December 6, 2000, as from “Hogan’s Heroes”, though in a formal suit rather than in costume), seeming cheerful and cordial as he sits down on Zsuzsanna’s left.

I am not surprised at all for some reason. I move forward (not standing up) and with some difficulty, try to shake his right hand with my left hand, which results in a bit of difficulty. He does not seem sure how to hold his arm in this situation and for a moment, it seems as if our hands are reversed or at least turned sideways (for example, the back of my hand facing out and forward, thumb down). Even though it is quite awkward making at least three attempts at a “normal” handshake, there is no residual embarrassment. He moves out farther but does not stand either.

Zsuzsanna and I talk to him a bit about what he thinks of the “Lost” television series (which began in 2004), which makes no logical (or interpretable) sense due to him having died before the first episode ever aired. This seems vaguely familiar in conscious afterthought as if there was a very similar scenario in a dream of a few years ago (regarding two or three large televisions being in the same setting). However, this is one of only a few dreams that ever had him as a character, the last one possibly being in 1978 (though I did not do a full scan as it takes some time) - though all other instances regard his Colonel Klink character and persona, I think.

There is not much after this. He does not seem to be too decisive about “Lost” either way. The meeting seems vivid and otherwise realistic for what it is.

In another highly illogical dream scene, I am trying to stop dogs from coming onto the porch in an alternate version of our last home on Barolin Street, though the windows are actually mostly closed anyway (and are sash windows rather than the jalousie windows as they were in reality). I am forcefully slapping a pillow against the closed window, to make a particular dog back away from it. There are at least three dogs though which are not that aggressive. One does grab the end of the pillowcase in his mouth for a short time, as the window then seems about one inch open. Nothing that stressful ensues and no dogs get in.

Morning of July 12, 2015. Sunday.



The first part of my dream is taking place in an unfamiliar home, where there is a large covered-sidewalk-like area and portico in the back of our house that extends along all the outer walls that face the backyard. An older white-bearded male in shorts, who seems like a neighbor in real life (though he is only at his apartment one or two days out of a month or more) is standing there near our house on the covered sidewalk and talking very loudly and continuously on his cellphone (as he often does in real life for an hour or more at a time, never pausing for even a short time, though while on his back porch across the alley from our place). I am not sure if he is talking to anyone or just talking to himself, using the telephone as a prop. Another male is there who seems to know him. I ask him about why he is doing this as the other male does not seem to think he is doing anything wrong. My wife and I, though, mostly are in the front yard the whole time. My perception is somewhat distorted as if I am fully aware of the imagery and sound on the other side of our house the whole time (even though I had not actually been in that area in-dream). I loudly say “How would he like it if I sat right near his window talking loudly for a long time?” In my dream, our (fictional) houses seem to be on the same street, side by side (his on my left when facing our house), rather than having facing backyards divided by an alley and our high fence as in reality. Also, the fictional covered sidewalk area seems almost as big as our house (though that is not really possible; just some sort of typical in-dream perceptual distortion or faulty reasoning, since I am mostly focused on our neighbor’s trespassing and imposition).

No drama ensues, as my dream shifts to something different where my wife is talking about a Ragdoll cat I see in our backyard, which is one my wife had when I first met her. My wife says that the cat has diabetes and because of that, it is somewhat dehydrated as well as apparently bloated on one side near its back (which does not make much sense). It is uncertain how long the cat will live. I watch it closely, pondering its seemingly unavoidable fate. There is a swimming pool with an open cylindrical drain large enough for a cat to swim down through and that is what it does. The mostly white cat jumps into the deep, clear water, moving very smoothly, much as with the motions of a human swimmer, even doing a “realistic” butterfly stroke for a time. I can see its front legs move forward and around, even noticing the flexing of its feet and toes that remind me much of a person’s hands and fingers. I contemplate the beauty of the intelligence of this cat, that is now apparently ready to leave the world in this manner, by swimming as much as possible within the water, enjoying its aquatic journey to peace as if it knows it is too ill to continue on land. I watch it swim directly down into the drain, perfectly and smoothly. However, even though there is not enough room to turn around within the pipe, the cat somehow emerges in the other direction (coming out headfirst) in a short time and seems healed. It no longer appears to have any health issues.

There is another shift and we seem to be living in a larger version of Cubitis, where an unknown younger male drives into our front yard while we are outside. I expect trouble. It seems nighttime as it is dark out, though it does not really “feel” like it is later at night. He pushes my wife but I get his attention by holding out a screwdriver as a weapon in my right hand. He pulls out from inside his shirt or jacket somehow, what I first think to be a knife but is actually another screwdriver the same as mine. For only a moment, it seems as if he has two left forearms (with two left hands) in close proximity (each from the same elbow area), each with a screwdriver (but my dream quickly “corrects itself” and the imagery is then normal with only one left hand holding one screwdriver). I end up quickly jabbing him twice in the chest, once near the middle, once slightly to the right, but then he mostly lies on the ground giggling even though he is badly, perhaps fatally, wounded. Soon, he seems to be gone from the setting somehow as well as the car (some sort of dream “reset”, or a typical way dreams sometimes sublimate or “erase” their own unfolding implications or short-term history). I talk to my wife who seems to be okay.

Early Evening of July 11, 2015. Saturday.



I had been working on a project with a large set of new music tracks and got stuck at trying to create the rather low-pitched cuíca-like sound from Peter Tosh’s “Rock With Me” (though I was able to copy most of the percussion rhythms otherwise in the way I wanted) and have become frustrated since nothing I can find, no sample, no actual instrumentation attempts, sounds anything quite like it. I lower the pitch of the MIDI cuíca (as my main otherwise very realistic drum kit in SFZ sounds nothing like a proper cuíca sound and is too smooth - and there is no feasible way to control note lengths, up or down stroke, pitch variation, or other important dynamics - thus a cuíca sample or MIDI format or even an audio loop for that matter, is mostly useless) and sequence it to match the organ bubble rhythm, but it just is not suitable and does not have a viable feel in the track. I have it set to exactly 86 bpm and do not feel like taking the sound out of the actual track, which is probably not very feasible because of how much it blends in. (In my dream, it seems that a yellow grape tomato is also called a “cuíca” for some reason.)

Even though it is rather low-pitched, I somehow am able to duplicate the sound in-dream with a small yellow grape tomato (“Sun Drop”) by holding it between my index and middle fingers and rubbing it with my thumb. This seems a bit unusual to get a low-pitched cuíca sound by rubbing a small tomato as such, but it works. I become aware of the plan to integrate it into a musical recording. More than one little yellow tomato is required, as once the eighth snare hit occurs on some verses, it needs to be popped to create the very light splashy cymbal sound, which is almost inaudible in the original track other than the intro pattern of the kick, snare, and cymbal prior to the start of the song. At one point, I eventually seem to be in a classroom setting (though no one else is around) with relevant algorithms written on the green chalkboard. This is the kind of rather ridiculous non-lucid dream I get when taking a nap earlier in the evening, especially when eating something I am mildly allergic to (in this case, chicken and peanut butter sandwiches, one of my favorite snacks, though an older brother was more allergic to peanut butter than I am). I still have not solved the cuíca issue, even after watching about a dozen videos with experts and performers, mostly in Spanish and Brazilian Portuguese. It is probably something in the back of my mind but has yet to emerge. I also seem to recall a “Fat Boys” cassette from the 1980s where they copied a very similar low-pitched cuíca rhythm, though vocally.

By some strange coincidence, “cuíca” is Portuguese for a type of small opossum which is known to make a high-pitched sound. How amusing.

Morning of July 11, 2015. Saturday.



It seems that my family and I are at an unfamiliar and unknown campground (and no name is perceived that I remember). Over time, some sort of unusual phrase seems to dominate the back of my mind in this possibly fictional location. It is something like “dust comes from the dirt weasel” or something similar. It does not seem to relate to an actual weasel or any other animal. At one level, it may relate to the link between “dust devil” and “Tasmanian devil” (cartoon version when relevant to spinning and creating a miniature tornado) and my association with my childhood “Wild Weasel” dream.

Mostly, there are two males that seem imposing. I am not certain of their intent. I somehow control movements of wind and dust (at some points, as an actual dust devil) to keep them back. One man seems particularly intent on possibly getting to us, and his motives are likely destructive or at least problematic, but I manage to hold and control whatever forces (which control the wind and air-blown “streams” of dust) are pushing him back. He never gets past this implied barrier, though the forces vary from strong to very strong to light enough so that he is able to move one step forward (though always moves back a step). Wind and dust both usually relate to the passage of time.

Morning of July 9, 2015. Thursday.



I sometimes find it somewhat peculiar how a shorter look at a dream from as far back as 1965 (without even putting that much attention on the new online summary) can somehow trigger a similar focus in a new dream. Certainly there is probably no meaning or symbolic association as such, but perhaps partially relevant to the work I am doing now regarding all April 9th dreams that seem to show extensive foreshadowing or precognitive elements in ways that seem by lifelong design. I suppose in that case, even considering that television broadcasts had certain strong influences, what determines which facets of such influences are the ones to seemingly create strong personal meaning even in a long-term precognitive sense? This may also be relevant to some extent with reviewing very old dreams, although the mood is sometimes different.

The concept that reminds me of my 1965 dream (“Frankenstein Closes the World”) is the opening of various small doors partly into what seems like a vertically “flat” (and inaccessible) version of part of the world at times. The idea of needing to go beyond a certain point seems like some sort of in-dream waking metaphor as with many in-dream events that some people try to claim as life-relevant events. For example, there has been a recurring situation in some dream types of going through a building and coming to a “dead-end” such as a window overlooking a city at night. A “dead-end” as such is almost always within a commercial building, though on a couple occasions related to trying to get out the hallway door on the south end of my Cubitis home during the time when it was not used in reality and was padded around the frame with pieces of blanket. A “dead-end” in a dream is likely some sort of impediment to the waking process and little else. You are in a dream and ready to wake, but perhaps not quite in the correct physical orientation to comfortably do so (for example, your arm being in an uncomfortable position).

In this dream, I mostly fly around and evade unknown people in mostly a cheerful manner. The scenario is not that clear, though the situation is quite common in dreams. It seems to relate in part to people not liking my flying ability, or me in general - though in this case it is likely that they view me as tresspassing. I fly about and land on roofs and walk on them a short time before flying elsewhere. There are a few scenes where I have to maneuver through very small openings in the middle of cluttered halls (which would otherwise be impossible to even squeeze through in reality) which seem somewhat related to industrial buildings. Some of these maneuvers seem to automatically trigger “resets” to where the setting changes dramatically. There are still seemingly annoyed people following me inside buildings as I fly around, though. One blocked area is made up of randomly stacked and partly fallen over boxes with at least one loose pipe diagonally across the top part of the small opening. I somehow still get through easily.

There is a scene where I am sitting at a table with another (unknown) male in the hall in the King Street boarding house (where there was not really enough room to do so in reality). The room I thought I had been stealthily residing in rent-free (where I never lived in in reality) turns out to be in use by a second unknown male, probably a college student, and I apologize for any intrusion I and the other male may have created when he opens his door. There is no conflict, however. From here, I go to the front of the house (though still upstairs) and into the kitchen. At this point, a third unknown person (female) is following me as if to ask me a question or at least say something. I am not interested and walk out onto the roof. Even though I am not lucid in any way, I know I can fly (typical in many dream types). I leap from the edge of the roof and the enjoyable and expected slight feeling of falling followed by rising up in flight occurs as usual. The other person seems somewhat surprised I did this. I fly fairly close to the ground near a group of unknown people before rising higher into the air again, effortlessly.

There is a shorter scenario after I land where I somehow cause money to come out of a machine of some sort (directly influenced by having seen the first episode of “Continuum” from 2012 on DVD). There is at least one American fifty-dollar bill for myself (along with what looks like a few different types of bills from Canada and Australia), yet I give my (deceased in real life) sister Marilyn a hundred-dollar bill for her husband for some reason. After a short time in a shift to a distorted version of her house, she is very angry about this act. She seems to believe that the gift of a hundred dollar bill somehow makes the time they spent saving money seem meaningless and she seems not to want it as such (which of course makes no sense at all other than perhaps for someone of an untimely poverty mentality which my sister certainly never had in life).

From here, I am watching a scene where my family is watching a very large flat-screen television, though I view the setting from the side of the television. The setting seems to take on an unusual vertically “flat” perspective that is hard to describe. I see my youngest son but not that clearly. It seems to be part of some sort of new television show about families watching television shows but mostly only filming their feet (yet I do not even reflect upon “Gogglebox Australia”, though which Zsuzsanna and I could only watch a few minutes of one episode of weeks ago). From here, I seem to be looking down at my own body in bed but from an unlikely angle though still from somewhere near my shoulders. There is some sort of abstract thought reflecting a potential of watching myself while watching myself; that is, a third but unseen “me”.

Morning of July 7, 2015. Tuesday.



My dream starts out like a typical imposer dream. The setting is our present house on W Street, though there is a slight change in the layout relative to size. My wife Zsuzsanna is sitting near our front window (sewing, I think, though her sewing machine is in our living room in reality) where there is more of a view of the neighbor’s house. I notice that the fence design is different. The thinner wooden planks had supposedly been horizontal (rather than vertical as in reality) but are now mostly decayed and lying on the ground. However, the first section of fence about three feet into the front yard division is still standing and made of brick - and is at least five feet high. There is a group of at least four young males. One of these males steps over the rotted planks into our front yard and this imposition immediately annoys me. I am thinking of going out and making sure they stay where they belong, but he goes back on his own. I speak about continuing the front part of the fence by putting more bricks in (not thinking about cost or work effort).

From here, I am concerned about the longevity of our wooden house. These thoughts do not result in any threatening event manifesting even though I consider the possibility of parts of the ceiling falling on us. Diverse features of the ceiling and the angles and differences in height in different areas are far more complex than in reality.

I am outside for a short time. I notice that one section of the sky to my right is different than to my left; a very distinct green color, which makes me think a really bad storm is on the way, perhaps a tornado (even though the sky to my left to the west seems normal and calm).

I go into our house, concerned about the possibly approaching bad weather. As I shut our front door, there is resistance and a pulling sensation and I think that it might be an imposing neighbor trying to get in to assault someone or burglarize, though it turns out that the door will not fully shut due to a large circular (slightly wreath-like) clump of grass being blown into the doorway above the doorknob and being stuck between the door and door frame at about shoulder level (mostly due to my closing the door so quickly that the grass did not have time to fall, the additional pull being caused by the wind). However, I do manage to get it closed. From here, I join Zsuzsanna and our youngest son, and the inside of our house then seems longer, though narrower, north to south, almost hall-like. There is soon a very eerie and human-like low-pitched howling of the wind, which we first think may be an old man or creature moaning just outside our front door. We end up still running, but in a sort of playful manner upon realizing the circle of grass stuck in the closed door is making a feature to cause sound to amplify and phase in this way.

The next scene involves other people being in our house, apparently by permission or just random passive characters coming into existence. Regardless of the weather concern, I sit down to consider a very large game board (about three feet by about one and a half feet) that has several different simultaneous game scenarios at once (though seemingly not at all related to each other). I take it apart (the board seems to have small joints whereby smaller sections connect), separating a section that appears to have some sort of Egyptian strategy game in progress (so that the other sections of the board displaying different cultures and battle scenarios do not distract from the seemingly individual game). The two buildings in the opposition look more like ziggurats than pyramids, though. I do not really reflect on why a person or group of people would have so many different things going on at the same time on the same game board. I am not interested in playing it now.

An older male sits on the couch (its position has changed; it is perpendicular to its location in reality; it faces east rather than north), apparently talking to a young Ava Gardner (December 24, 1922-January 25, 1990) - probably related to the fact that my wife had checked out a “Perry Mason” DVD set in real life (thus a distorted Erle Stanley Gardner association). I am not sure what the scenario is; perhaps he is coaching her in her acting, though he is seemingly her agent. I go over and notice that she is dressed in lacy black and is sitting back with her arms back (and knees up) on the floor. I grab her heels and lift them slightly. She then transforms into a Tweety Bird foil balloon (shaped like Tweety Bird in frontal silhouette) of about three feet long. I end up whacking the balloon by her “feet” (the balloon of which is still somehow her) against the floor (though I am not even focused on why) with a slight wariness that I probably should be doing something else.

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Morning of July 6, 2015. Monday.

Dream #: 17,731-04. Reading time: 1 min 40 sec.



This dream was mostly abstract but had a vivid corporeal scene in the last offset segment. The narrative begins with anger regarding an unknown person cleaning an area where I had my belongings stored, though it is unclear if I was staying in the room. It is the Loomis Street house (irrelevant since 1994), but the perspective is distorted and seen mostly only from the ceiling. At one point, I am aware that three equidistant posts are jutting from the floor, oriented east to west.

I notice my (fictitious) belongings consist of numerous small items of metal and plastic. After they discarded some of my small possessions, they randomly placed the rest of them around the posts in nearly a perfect circle, each pile a few inches high. I see this from a vague incorporeal viewpoint, with several abstract transitions. I am unaware of any other room in the house at the time.

As my dream becomes less abstract, I am corporeal and getting ready to get out of a car (having been driven by my brother-in-law, though I do not see him) that has arrived on Loomis Street. As I am leaving the car, I notice the radio is on, though not very loud. I remember I have to turn the radio off when being the last one to leave the car (no waking-life correlation). I reach over to the far right near where I had been sitting and flick down a switch that is like a light switch. However, that does not turn the radio off but changes it from FM to a louder AM station but with more static. Without touching that switch again, I find a similar switch closer to the steering wheel (though still to my right). I flick this switch down as well, and the radio goes off, and I slowly wake.

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What I know as of July 2020: A parked vehicle is tied in with the imaginary physicality of the dream state, though defining the cessation of vestibular activity (and its ambiguity as in REM sleep). If the car is moving, imaginary kinaesthesia is a factor (vestibular cortex arousal). Ultimately the physical body is an illusion in the dream state, and this illusion will transition to the concept of traveling in a vehicle (such as a car). This situation initiates both somatosensory cortex and auditory cortex arousal. In this instance, I manage the auditory cortex while in my dream by way of a somatosensory-auditory-cerebral handshake. Such modulation seems intriguing, I think.

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Morning of July 6, 2015. Monday.



There are a lot of events in this dream, but mostly shifting and randomly meandering around different parts of a large fictional house that my family lives in. A couple unknown males are present and almost seem to have a level of authority (even though they seem like typical street-people or even homeless youths), which seems atypical of an imposer dream scene. I make a sarcastic comment to one of them at one point (after he asks a question about something we own, but of which is not that clear) though we do not end up fighting and I do not seem angry at any point. I enjoy being with Zsuzsanna for a time, but I am aware that some things in the house need to be sorted and arranged better, as there is so much.

There is one scene where I am moving some boxes of items that were supposedly left behind by a recent tenant (recurring situation). They may be craft items which can be sold later. I notice that the front of our house is more like a commercial building entrance, with a large window that looks out onto the street, seemingly in a more urban-like larger setting than we live in in reality. The building is like a large L-shape, with the two sections much like large halls. There is not much furniture, but there are a lot of random items sitting about, including some table lamps on the floor.

The most interesting part relates to trying to work out how to use an old Atari joystick (firstly looking the same as in the image included here) in order to play a particular computer game (something I have not really been involved much in in over twenty years). At one point, I seem to be playing the game, but that may not be the case. The small animal-like and cartoon-like characters (in a large image somehow projected onto the wall like a movie) do not seem to be responding correctly (first relative to the keystrokes, then to the joystick I attempt to use after this) - which reminds me of how similar problems (with older games) were relevant. Otherwise, the sense of touch, pressure, and movement is quite realistic. Fiddling a bit with the handle of the joystick, as it seems to be not working quite right or perhaps stuck or sticking at times, the handle comes out much like a telescoping radio antenna, becoming at least twice as long, yet also revealing a thinner section of the handle, and a metallic structure somewhat like the spindle of a faucet but smaller. I also notice what resembles a miniature umbrella-ribs-like mechanism. The more I push and pull on parts of the joystick, the more it expands into more complex mechanisms, though supposedly into its standard expected form. It ends up looking a bit futuristic and almost as if it could walk about on its own. I become so interested in the intriguing mechanical changes of various parts of the joystick, I lose interest in the computer game.

Morning of July 5, 2015. Sunday.

Dream #: 17,730-02. Reading time: 1 min 52 sec.



In real life, I had been working on a document about prescience in dreams regarding details from April 9 (1970-1990) that preceded my marriage on April 9 in 1994, sometimes integrated with a curious unrelated influence from television (which probably relates to prescient awareness of potential broadcasts and pop culture trends).

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In my dream, I am living on Loomis Street, and I am about twelve years of age. My sister is alive and rather young (mostly as she appeared in 1967, though I was six years old then). I do not recognize how wrong the setup and perspective is though I consider that something is different.

Being about twelve, but still active in dream research, I am puzzled by an “empty dream journal” supposedly started when I was about four years old. There was not always enough paper to write on, so I used my sister’s copies of Mad Magazine to write in, in any blank space, as well as older issues of Dig and Help! I get an impression that having records since birth relates to my “destiny,” and I decide to copy some dreams into the issue of Mad Magazine that is otherwise free of handwritten lines. I briefly recall the wedding date. I think about how impersonal the “dream journal” (Mad Magazine) is. I know that the April 1967 Mad Magazine cover (date, not time of printing) has a clue for me regarding Yin and Yang, Corona Borealis and Corona Australis, and similar concepts.

The cover features Alfred E. Neuman with a blue magnet, and under that is the reverse, a red one coming up from below, suggesting a pull (from an unseen “opposite” persona or character) from the “other side,” for me, a play on blue American mailboxes and red Australian mailboxes. I talk to my sister for a short time saying that I did not know this magazine existed as such. (I have no concept or memory of “Yin” other than the date relevance of September 13). I continue to write in it, one to two lines on at least six pages, now seemingly unrelated to dreams, but perhaps questions. I think about the cover and how only I could understand its connections to my life.

I transition to a dream type that mostly only occurred around age five; being in a world of giants. I sometimes dreamt of adults and children older than me as towering over me. In this case, a tall African woman (or spirit) in traditional tribal dress seemingly speaks to me in modern English or at least cheerfully communicates. Although we are indoors, she seems about twenty feet tall or more. I am of the correct size, but tiny in contrast to the setting. Next, after some ambiguous abstract scenes, is a situation where a friendly dog approaches me.

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Morning of July 1, 2015. Wednesday.



Notes: Ever since I was young, I found out (at least for me) that a fulfilling session of intimacy always brought me into the state of blissful sleep paralysis. In fact, sometimes this changeover was so immediate and primarily passive, I sometimes did not move into my long-acknowledged self-as-dream-maker role. I would almost always start to hear loud hypnagogic audio before the beginning of sleep paralysis (though not directly related to the state in my experience - though everyone seems different).

Imagine my immense surprise as I got older, when people wrote of hypnagogia as being a problematic “condition” (often regarding some sort of “disorder”) and almost always wrote of sleep paralysis as mostly a negative experience of “shadow people” or a dark presence (a load of nonsense in my case - I discovered that the shadow was my conscious mind becoming less-defined as I was then more into the dream state - the opposite of what most people seem to believe). No one could be more baffled than I am over the things I have seen in typical dream literature (especially idiotic “interpreter” sites), none of which has resonated with me throughout my life.

I mention this in somewhat of a prologue here, as I entered the first dreamscape this time at a passive level. (My first dream of the night is almost always vivid and lucid as I remain in a “carryover” self-as-dream-maker state. I do not usually document such dreams online, especially as they are often very similar and mostly without any plot or theme.) After fulfilling intimacy, I almost immediately heard an imaginary sound pulse as I remained on my back for a time (though I do not typically sleep all night on my back). It was three loud knocks (seemingly on a fictional “dream floor” I was lying on - or rather, a typical state of perceptual bilocation in this state), moving from my right to my left; that is, first knock on my right, second knock right “above” me, and third knock on my left. It does not surprise me at all that there is an actual superstition related to this. Of course, I do not buy it any more than the “shadow people” story. Save that for the people who believe in “dream dictionaries” and the syndicated Wishing Well newspaper feature.

In my dream, I and my family are living in a large unfamiliar house (though it also seems like a composite in afterthought - one which includes the Loomis Street house and my old Cubitis home). I am involved in sorting things out; mostly a large number of paperback books. For some reason, I have glued at least three paperback books to the otherwise featureless wall covering their back cover with glue and pressing them up. They remain just above my head, though the third one (farthest right) is slightly lower. They are all the same title but different editions. I clearly see the differences on each cover. Two of the covers show the heads and upper shoulders of two ship captains (one with a thick beard, one without) on each in a diagonal layout, but one cover of those two has an embossed tessellated flame design over mostly blue while the other cover is flat (though with otherwise mostly the same imagery), which distinguishes it from the other edition. The other book (first one from my left) looks of an older style of painted cover art (perhaps late 1960s) in mostly darker greens, blues, and grays, and displays a warship and a submarine underneath. I no longer recall the title, though. I know it had “captain and the” in it, possibly “The Submarine Captain and the Warship Captain”.

For several minutes, I think about what I am doing, wondering if the books will just eventually fall off the wall, the glue not being strong enough to hold over time. This does not happen though and I go into a dream within a dream - though only for a short time before returning to my main dream setting. In this one, I am at a book store seeking a particular edition of this title, asking if they have the “thirteenth edition” (my wife was born on a Friday the thirteenth - though I do not link this association in-dream), but then I realize that the book store owner may not have a clue which edition is which, especially in a secondhand store. I will likely have to do everything on my own, as usual. This is a rather strange reflection, as I have the mind of a passionate book collector in-dream, something I have never been in reality and could not care less about having several copies of the same title in different paperback editions. Even so, I am puzzled over my actions in both layers of my dream, though mainly the “why” of gluing the books on the wall in the first place. I cannot quite work out why I am doing this - especially in my vague concern about the longevity of the setup.

I am thinking that we should turn our house into a bookstore, though mostly using the porch for patrons. I think that I will mention this to Zsuzsanna and we can start running our bookstore as soon as possible.

I notice a young girl lying on the couch (opposite the wall where the books are glued). My youngest son is also there but slightly older than in reality. I sit down near them and “remember” that the girl is my daughter, though for some reason I cannot remember her name at all. I am thinking it may be something like Rebecca. I am vividly aware of small grains of sand on the couch, which has been opened out into a single bed that reminds me clearly of my couch/bed in Cubitis for a time (of the kind of couch where the back just drops down in contrast to the one we now have in reality that opens out into a larger bed from a compartment underneath). Even the texture and color looks like the one I had as a teen (for about two years or so).

Feeling quite strange over not remembering my own daughter’s name I begin to develop an idea on how to get it without being seen as uncaring. I ask her “What is it you like to be called?”. She calmly answers with “Belly”. Oddly enough, this fictional nickname is somewhat an unlikely form of my real daughter’s name (Isabelle) and strikes me as such (“returning” my memory) that my dream is fractured and I very slowly wake. However, I would hope that this is not the name she will use any more than “Izzy” (which I also do not personally care for that much, no offense to the Izzys of the world).

Morning of June 30, 2015. Tuesday.



I am vaguely aware of the newest “Godzilla” movie playing at an outdoor sports event (and seemingly going on for at least two or three days without showing any part of Godzilla), but this is not my main dream focus, which may be shifted to a different one.

I am hovering or at least viewing a scene possibly over the surface of the ocean. I am not sure of the size orientation, as I seemingly view a glimpse of a partially submerged Godzilla. After a very short time, I realize that it is not Godzilla’s back, but the back of a (normal-sized) hedgehog swimming through the murky water - with the size reference being much smaller. This error seems to have been caused by light from my right side briefly interfering with my vision. In afterthought, it dawns on me that Godzilla’s back does not at all undulate as it should above the water’s surface, which seems to be the case in the real movies as well. This causes me to briefly reflect that it may not be a hedgehog either, but someone dragging seaweed (or possibly a dead turtle covered with seaweed) through the water with a small motorboat for whatever reason.

Morning of June 28, 2015. Sunday.



(Please note that the image shows sled dogs at rest; not injured in any way.)

This was confirmed as an authentic First Nations ancestral dream (one of the oldest kinds possible, in fact), which came as a bit of surprise to me (considering I have lived in Australia since February of 1994), though does explain why it felt so utterly different than the majority of my dreams.

This was one of those more vivid dreams that seemingly “comes out of nowhere”; that is, in a rare case of not being quickly (personally) resolved and “interpreted” at least to some extent (depending on the dream type and level of consciousness of course, as a number of dream types are literal, persona practice runs, real-self-created-and-directed, environmentally scripted or at least influenced, or solely metaphorical to the dreaming and waking process itself). It did not quite feel like the day to day visual precognition or impersonal remote viewing I always experience.

In my dream, it seems to be late at night or possibly very early morning before dawn. I become aware that I am walking to our front door with my wife Zsuzsanna (at our atypically near-perfect rendering of our present address). (I am not sure of any implied back story, immediate or otherwise.) She opens the door to look out onto the front porch and beyond and says “something is dead out there” (very clear and well-rendered audio with no distortion of my wife’s essence). This does something to my perception, causing my dream to become even more vivid and augmented (in terms of all the five sense). This particular in-dream level of such precise perceptual focus was far more common around age nine. As such, I can almost sense my dream “building itself” as if my dream-self is one step ahead of the potential outcome and casually waiting for the next imagery to unveil (though this does not trigger lucidity for some odd reason and my dream-maker-self is not directly perceived as in other dreams, even in afterthought).

Out in the middle of the street, facing west, are now at least three sled dogs lying on their sides, motionless (and presumed dead), the leader mostly aligned with the line of sight of the stop sign prior to the intersection. I can also see the empty dog sled tipped on its side. I am trying to logically process the scene. I can firstly just make out the shapes as they come into focus, appearing slightly larger and brighter at first (as if slightly out of phase with my dream perspective for a very short time). Soon, the scene is clearly and vividly resolved; rendered very realistically. There is no sign of any other animals or people around.

I try to mentally process what the scene indicates or may indicate regarding the nature of the street and general traffic (though there is no traffic perceived anywhere). Obviously, there are no dog sleds going past our house and down the street in reality. This realization, however, does not even dawn on me in-dream. I am convinced that there has been a “real” event for whatever reason and think about what may have happened to the sledmaster. Did he go to get help? Is he lying somewhere else unconscious or deceased? I am very puzzled over why there is no activity such as police cars or other people at the scene, if just to remove the dogs and wrecked sled. I start to wonder, with additional puzzlement, just how long this setup had remained as such. I consider if the dog sled had been driven over by a semitrailer truck (which does not make much sense though does in my dream).

My dream seems to shift into peaceful “oblivion” without waking, something that is fairly rare in my adult years. It seemed to take place in a “deeper” part of my being than any other dream I have head in my lifetime (though I more recently found out why, relating to the ancestral memory).

Important update: Although I am not a fan at all of so-called psychotherapy (and never have been), I also found this link for anyone interested: http://www.briancollinson.ca/index.p...sled-dogs.html

Morning of June 26, 2015. Friday.



I seem to be in the fictional tall pipe house yet again (in an unknown region - but some versions are similar to my older sister’s house on Loomis Street in America and with the fictional utility room and storage area at the southwest corner), but this time it involves an unusual bathtub that has a large grilled rectangular prism adjacent to one end that is implied to be directly above the large utility room (with the high ceiling) that is on the first floor though with a dirt floor in most versions of this setting and now apparently has at least one tall pipe leading down from the bathtub drain to the room below (though it is usually the toilet that has the long narrow vertical pipe that becomes misaligned). The focus is very vivid and “realistic” materialistically but somewhat nonsensical in terms of aesthetics and potential design. The large grill is a box-like structure (a grill-like plane on all sides) on the faucet end of the bathtub. The faucet comes out through about the central area of the side of the grill that faces the bathtub, it seems.

I find it remarkable in afterthought how such a three-dimensional fictional structure can be created so convincingly as such in a dream. In my dream, I decide to clean the grill, at least the bathtub-facing side, which is quite rusty as well as dusty (and I briefly contemplate why I had not tried to clean it previously) - in fact, the dirt and rust is nearly solid within all the grill spaces, though the faucet seems to be working fine (though the box-like structure seems like just a fancy cover for the pipes going in and out at the end of the bathtub - the bathtub being more near the central area of the bathroom in an unlikely layout). Over time, I use a whisk broom and, even though all of the spaces are cleared almost effortlessly, some of the vertical bars, being quite thin and mostly now composed of rust, break off easily at a light touch, though not that much damage occurs and all the spaces are otherwise cleared completely of rust and dirt so that it even appears somewhat shiny again. I notice how I can now see inside the structure (as well as through the spaces of the adjoining perpendicular grilled plane) and the running water is much louder as well - including a clearer metallic gurgling sound within the structure. It is loud but pleasant.

Looking down through the top (horizontal) grill of the structure, I see that the water going through the bathtub drain ends up on the dirt floor in the utility and storage area below, though it is presently a small puddle. I am not concerned about this odd plumbing setup and it does not even strike me as unusual or requiring fixing (or adjusting the tall pipe alignment).

This dream seems primarily an intriguing (though greatly exaggerated in size) distortion of my cleaning of the front room computer’s CPU fan the other day by removing the fan’s cover (where the vents were almost solid with dust clumps - causing the computer to not stay on). I did find the “realism” of my dream (in terms of solidness, movement, and effect change as well as the motions of my hands in my work) quite interesting.

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