non-lucid

Morning of November 27, 2014. Thursday.



In my vivid non-lucid dream, I had set up an otherwise family-based “maximum well-being” scenario that was altered by annoying nuances once my dream was beginning to stabilize and progress on the momentum of the less-precise scripting. The holographic numeric keypad layer over my left hand (for in-dream “programming” and “channel changing”) brought in all the members of my immediate family, but also brought in my wife’s mother and a few others. Also, the environment was not defined yet and presently seems to be my second-storey childhood Rose Street apartment in La Crosse (which burned down over twenty years ago). The first scene is a birthday party of our youngest daughter.

Everything seems fine at first. However, I eventually see that my unwelcome mother-in-law is playing with our youngest daughter in an overly rough way and also, I believe she may be lying to all our children about various things to wrongfully influence them. She is somehow lifting her with her feet and putting her up over her head, slightly behind her (which reflects a real-life perspective of about eighteen years ago where she acted crazed and “cornered” by the nurses and security guards and I feared she was going to toss our newborn son out the window of the maternity ward), and it dawns on me that she should not be in the residence or have any contact with our family at all even though she is presently in a cheerful passive stage. I tell her to get out and never come back.

Soon, she and at least two others are off to contact the authorities about one of her typically fabricated claims. Two unknown females visit later as well; some sort of social workers, it seems, and are also somehow involved in her problematic plans against my family (as she had done in real life to a variety of people and almost all her neighbors). I vaguely think about “resetting” my dream but I am not lucid thus do not consider all the limitless potential of dreams at the time, but during this time I press a number sequence on my keypad that changes the DNA of dream characters so that when she comes back with investigators they will find that she is not even my wife’s mother as she claims, as I had already told this to other authorities by that point. I tap the palm of my left hand with the fingers of my left hand (curved over) to deactivate the keypad (into invisibility) until I decide to use it again.

Eventually, there are several unknown people coming into our apartment from downstairs. It is as I expect. My wife’s mother and youngest sister have no matching DNA and there are no records she is related or even associated with her. It is a relief to be justifiably victorious in this scenario though I have to “upgrade” one of the females into a higher-ranking police officer to take everyone else away. The first set of clothes do not quite fit, so I have to make a couple minor adjustments as they balloon out slightly before taking a perfect fit to her form. She is patient enough to accept the slightly slower transition before going fully into character. I go into a long speech, asking the others present, including a ship’s captain it seems, about why people like this are not put into mental institutions so as not to create problems for other people - and I also mention how she has caused problems for over two hundred people with false crime reports and continuously lying to government agencies, including while pretending to be different people. (I reflect on how she once eventually and unexpectedly ended up talking to the person she was pretending to be over the telephone, which was quite amusing.)

I activate my keypad and press the number “8” (middle of third row of four rows - 1 2 3, 4 5 6, 7 8 9, * 0 #) for a “portal” in the form of a bathroom (which symbolizes purification during transitions) with two opposite doors - the entrance doorway of which forms on a hallway wall, to either wake or go into a different dream. The room is slightly cramped, but all of my family members walk through the doorway, to go to the other doorway that opens into a hallway of a different dream. A boy, who may be a younger version of my oldest son, seems to be spitting up any negative energies from the previous dream scenario. Meanwhile, two very heavyset women have an argument and eventual physical fight as the previous section of my dream loses cohesion and they do not regard my presence at all (possibly triggered by two or more people yelling on the street outside our home in real life).

I end up at a different party with an alternate version of my wife who is not that much like her - probably a glitch in the intended scenario which I cannot remember setting.

I say hello to Dagwood Bumstead and Blondie, who are sitting on different armchairs and drinking cocktails near the main entrance of the apartment. They look like real people and not comic strip characters for the most part. However, Dagwood looks a bit unusual with his odd hairstyle (as in the comic strip) as well as a bit frail. I converse with them for a time. Dagwood’s boss is also there but I cannot remember his name. I settle on “Mr. Bagely” (bagel-lee) but that is not correct and this is after I think of “Mr. Beasley” - who is actually the mailman. (The boss’s last name is actually “Dithers”.) I ask his boss what sort of advertising they mostly do and he says “furniture”, which is not reflective of the real-life comic (it is actually a construction company).

My alternate wife is conversing with an unknown female (or another version of my wife) who is standing undressed near her armchair and I recognize that two unrelated lines from the scripting likely got cross-linked and glitched-out and I become annoyed. I decide to leave because the music (though not that loud) is annoying as well. I go out and discover that the area looks a bit like Gillette Street but also with Rose Street elements (in reality that area of Rose Street is completely different now, not remotely resembling how it looked in the 1960s). A heavyset man follows me down the street as I walk east (on the south side of the street) and I turn, materializing a gun in my right hand to shoot him, but instead, a huge powerful stream of water comes out and knocks him down from over fifteen feet away. Another man on the opposite side of the street starts pointing and laughing as if in relief he is not in much danger. As I continue, I am ready to take to the air, but I notice Smokey the Bear, carrying a shovel, emerging from a poster on an alleyway wall and he will possibly be problematic as he heads toward me. Apparently, he may be able to fly as well, so I press the hash key (meaning “turn my dream off”) and am out of there. (I have no idea why Smokey the Bear appeared, though I often have pyrokinetic abilities in dreams, but did not use any in this one - the shovel possibly related to mortality or concern of being buried. However, there is also a brief reflection on a rather crude comedic poster I had as a teenager that displayed “forest fires prevent bears” as a spoof on the Smokey Bear public service announcements.)

Morning of November 24, 2014. Monday.

Dream #: 17,507-02. Reading time (optimized): 1 min.



My dream starts with a vague backstory of anger in a grocery store or other business. I am unsure of what had occurred. An unknown man with whom I seem to have been annoyed comes out to shake his fist at me. I fly away to relax. I rise slowly, gaining more speed as I fly above the streets.

I land in Northside La Crosse, within a few blocks south of the Loomis Street house. A tornado approaches from the northwest. I walk into a narrow alley with tall buildings adjacent to each side (a fictitious setting). The twister seems sentient as it turns to approach my location, but I feel unthreatened. It cannot come into the narrow alley. The wind is strong but does not harm me. I stand near the end of the alleyway, enjoying the realistic sensations. It eventually “decides” to leave the area to move west up the street. (I am instinctually aware I am controlling it.)

I decide to check up on my relatives who live in the area without recall that most of them had died. The street is instead a bridge of about ten feet high. I walk across it to instinctually vivify my imaginary physicality. What looks like huge cooked spaghetti strands, about the size of sections of garden hose, cover the lawns. They are supposedly the physical remnants of the tornado.

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Before full wakefulness, I recall a comic book story (possibly from “Spooky The Tuff Little Ghost”) featuring a tornado made of spaghetti.

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Morning of November 18, 2014. Tuesday.



Once again I am back in school, possibly Mr. F’s fifth grade classroom, but the setup is a little different and the teacher is unfamiliar. The directional orientation is a little more like a fourth grade class I had, in some ways. I am aware of best friend Toby T but I am the only student that remains in the classroom at one point. Still, there are open books on most of the desks. Apparently, the teacher (female and about twenty-five) has given me extra time to finish a writing task, which is to be a short story about five pages long, handwritten on sheets of plain notebook paper. There is absolutely no awareness of modern technology at any point in my dream.

A new dream type has become more viable recently (though likely temporary). It involves clearer writing within the dream state and interestingly, is not as frustrating as when reading a book in a dream (especially a longer book that eventually makes me overly tired after waking - more tired than if I had not slept at all), even though I have to read what I write both as I am writing and after.

The story slowly comes into development. I write about events as if they were occurring in a comic strip world and over time, there is at least one person that is stealing words from comic strip balloons, sometimes until the speech balloons are actually empty. The detail is fairly logical (in the order of sentences and descriptions in my story) with my writing not distorted (at least in grammar or spelling) but I do not recall my story that well. One scenario has someone using a bullhorn to somehow “protect” his speech balloon or make it “stronger” but that does not work.

After awhile, the person actually starts taking the entire speech balloons with some sort of walking-cane-like hook, similar to the Vaudeville gag where a giant hook removes people from the stage. He stores them in a locked otherwise empty room somewhere, stacking them against the wall like small sheets of plywood. It seems I have some illustrations (done by another student possibly or perhaps from a school textbook as an ELA writing prompt) that helps me enhance my story. The illustrations are taped to the top of a few of the five different pages, and every other page.

I am concerned about finishing the story, but I focus more in-dream and seemingly finish it. I do not awake feeling tired, either, regardless of my in-dream focus required to actually write without it changing when looking back. The teacher stays in the classroom for the most part but we do not talk to each other much.

The image that came up via Google was quite suitable but I probably would not tag it as precognitive (or in this case the term would be postcognitive since the drawing already existed).

This dream seems to primarily be about my perspective of certain aspects of mainstream society (especially the televised media and pop culture); comic-strip-like, with much of what people say worthy only of being “pulled off the stage” as in Vaudeville.

Morning of November 17, 2014. Monday.



My family and I have apparently partly moved into what seems to be the second floor of a large apartment building. However, this does not seem to be final, as it seems we still need to be “approved” again as a final step (which does not really make sense as we are already living there and had been for perhaps a week). There seem to be two unknown women who own the building.

I am in the main living room but there are also strange visitors from other apartments with us for some reason. One of them is the infamous YouTube conspiracy theorist VH from Kentucky. Another seems to be the heavyset male who makes a brief appearance in “The Butterfly Room” when he shouts up at whom he thinks is the tenant. Another may be the delusional alcoholic I knew in La Crosse who was always talking about prairie dogs coming out of mirrors. A couple others are also very unusual characters, but unfamiliar.

Interestingly, I seem to be okay with these people for a time. However, VH eventually starts playing around with a cigarette lighter to “illustrate” some sort of point he is trying to make about something. I grab him and the lighter. I press his face down near the corner of a bed and have control of where the fire from the lighter goes. I am, using telekinesis, spreading the fire over VH’s face and upper body while yelling at him - but it does not kill him and I am able to not only stop other things from burning up completely (such as the bed sheet) but also restore it as the fire moves across it each time. No larger fire occurs and the flames do not get out of my control. The precision with which I control it is quite interesting though I am not lucid. Finally, I just tell everyone to leave and never come back.

Around this time, the owners come in. They do not seem to appreciate the ruckus I caused. I ask her if she knows who VH is and soon tell her about him. It still seems we will be living there. We look at an empty room that has new, attractive veneer everywhere, including areas of the wall and on tall cabinets. It almost seems as if I had done this recently (though I do not remember doing so), as the woman does not seem to know about it, though it remains a mystery.

She asks me if I will be okay with the noise in living here, indicating that people come and go and walk through the main halls at all hours of the day and night. I tell her how I am used to living in such buildings (which is not true at all - I only lived in a smaller apartment building over a tavern around the age of five, not counting the usually quiet residential boarding house as a young adult). I think about people making noise in the hall and slamming doors in the middle of the night, but this is the only place available at the time, apparently, so I accept the situation.

In reality, I had never “flamed“ VH on YouTube as many others have, though I have not seen any of his videos in a long time. I am mostly learning to ignore people on the Internet with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, regardless of how abusive these people are and their continuous need to manufacture drama while playing the victim.

Morning of October 30, 2014. Thursday.



There is a shorter dream of confusion between “volunteers” and “fallen tears”. At first, it seems to be a group of high school students who go by the name “Fallen Tears” but then I realize they are just saying “volunteers”. Their main role seems to be repairing the houses of people who live in poor neighborhoods as well as possibly finding food for them (even foraging).

Morning of October 30, 2014. Thursday.



In my dream, I am in a large (unknown building and unknown town) public room somewhere, seemingly some sort of library or library-like setting. I have torn two pages out of a large reference book - which does not seem to be an unapproved or destructive act for whatever reason. On one page is a longer list of data (somewhat like more detailed telephone listings and such) relating to several different otherwise unrelated things in about three grouped sections on the page, which I find somewhat curious. There is data about Sarasota (Florida), Brisbane, and some other listings related to my own life all on one page, which seems very conveniently coincidental (though it does not trigger lucidity). An older female (about ten years older than me or more) informs me about a need to pay a small fee for any more time I take in searching for more data but I tell her I have already found what I wanted, yet for some reason, put the two pages back and leave the book on a public counter. There is a vague idea about leaving the book complete for the benefit of others that use it.

A little later, she comes over near the center of the room and asks me about some work I did, apparently in 1979, which related to all the computer programs I supposedly wrote - up to and through that year (the unlikely year for home computers does not trigger lucidity either). She asks me if I think it will work on a modern system (meaning her computer at her private residence, it seems). She says that all my work is in a COM file (rather than an archive such as ZIP or ARC), called 79.COM, which does not sound right, because a COM file is an executable so more than one would need to be in an archive with the others. I reflect on the idea that everything everyone ever did on any computer, telephone, or even wrote on paper, and so on (possibly even including graffiti), is now stored in various files (by this federal government library or whatever it is) relating directly to the person’s identity. I do not see it as an affront; it just seems to be a curious fact and other members of the public may be here to recover data that they thought they had lost. I am thinking about the compatibility of the supposed work and if it will work on Windows 97 (as opposed to the fictional Windows 79 it was apparently written for). I begin to wonder about the correctness of the numbers and try to recall the nature of the executable files. The scenario seems to symbolize the memory of the individual and how such “data” is stored “forever” even when a person often does not remember it.

Morning of October 30, 2014. Thursday.



My first dream of this date was related to several city council workers doing the opposite of what they were doing in reality around this time period. In reality, they were fixing the street outside our house very early in the morning. However, in my dream, they were across the street and removing a larger road that turned off from the main street. What is left is a somewhat marshy river, which I think is an improvement. However, I consider if it would be somewhat unsafe when going into town and going by the area and whether or not the baby might decide to investigate. Still, it is not that strong a concern and I reflect that it is better to have a river there than another road. My dream shifts a few times relative to the environmental change and where I am. At one point, it also seems there may be a fictional shopping mall north of us, on the west side of the street, just a bit farther than where the river enters the forest-like region, but sitting in the parking lot at one point seems to be a couple diggers and bulldozers. I am not sure of what other development may be going on, if any.

Morning of October 28, 2014. Tuesday.

Dream #: 17,480-02. Reading time: 1 min 20 sec.



I am in Cubitis. It seems to be around 1974, and I am about thirteen years old. The chicken shed is still a rabbit shed. We are going to be moving soon. (We did not move to Wisconsin until the last days of June of 1978.) There is a backstory regarding my unwillingness to accept our rabbits being sold (which seems to imply that we cannot move until we sell the business).

I am in our rabbit shed and see a man and woman in their thirties. They are possibly going to buy most or all of our rabbits. They are in the west area of our shed (that is bigger in my dream) as if I am on the set of a television studio news broadcast, even though I am only talking to them on the telephone.

There is an unseen presence of which I am unsure. It seems to be an older version of me or representing a narrator of my dream. I am told to act as if I am incompetent. As I talk to the buyers, I pretend to stutter and stop in the middle of sentences. I invent false scenarios about our rabbits and our shed. Still, they do not seem to be discouraged from buying. I talk about how mice mix with our rabbits. It seems to be one of the most ridiculous and off-putting things I can say. Eventually (through the uncovered lower area of the shed, between the columns), I notice rabbits hopping around outside and decide to go to the backyard after declaring that all of them are escaping, so there will not be any for them to buy.

I see my father, but I do not recall he died years ago. The physical orientation I feel is quite vivid at this point. From here, I enter the typical sensual stage of encountering a younger version of my wife and indulge in an embrace. In a false awakening of lesser vividness, I tell Zsuzsanna about this dream.

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Morning of October 24, 2014. Friday.

Dream #: 17,476-04. Reading time (optimized): 1 min.



I am in a dream-rendered alternate version of Cubitis, likely in 1974. The school bus has stopped at the next-door neighbor’s house. Instead of getting on it, I walk northeast and end up in a jungle. (The area was mostly cow pastures and orange groves in reality.)

I fly to evade black and dark green giant snakes that follow me as I go back around on a meandering semicircular journey, mostly southwest. I get the impression at times as I am nearing a regional barrier between two worlds that the snakes can swim through the air. The scenario resets to repeat at least three times. Each time, I am also eventually able to focus and wave my hand to cause the snakes to fall back and stay in their territory.

There is something about letters being sent to the wrong people, though that is straightened out (not by conventional means but dream state mental processing that resolves it). Zsuzsanna is here in Cubitis, the distant past and present mixed in the typical erroneous composite.

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(There are times when I was able to correlate snakes with stomach discomfort or the state of the digestive system. There are associations with human intestines because of similar shape and their coiling.)

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Eluding the flying snakes while I am in flight could stem from my subliminal anticipation of the back spasm I experience in specific states of sleep. I can control them at times, though not typically. Their cause stems from a distinct awareness of liminal space.

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Morning of October 24, 2014. Friday.



This is the third vivid dream in a row where I had eventual unlimited control of the dream yet was not lucid at all, just in control of the dream’s scenario while expressing endless “ability”.

My family and I are living back in the old large Barolin Street house (which was moved in reality - and my family was actually endangered by people throwing rocks at the assumed empty place a few times and we also had visits from wayward backpackers looking for an empty free place to sleep, all due to a misleading large sign nailed on our fence). Over time, in my dream, two male workers show up in the backyard and are apparently there to refurbish the place. My wife and children are not home when they begin their work. One male talks to me from the roof of the shed for a short time on two occasions.

As time passes, I realize they are destroying parts of the house, including the back closed porch, before they intend to rebuild much of it. I did not realize that this was the plan - it is very imposing and potentially dangerous. I am also aware that we still have all our possessions in the house and I think about how annoying it would be should I have to dig through the remains of the soon-to-be demolished house to find everything. They have a wrecking crane in the backyard and at one point, I run into the house as it smashes much of the back of the house but I am not directly threatened, though parts of the ceiling fall farther back behind me. In fact, the younger male has to run out of the way at times as well.

I go back to where the two men are. They seem somewhat cheerful, but I grow more and more annoyed. I angrily “order” them to replace the roof and fix what they have damaged, as I have decided that this will not be happening. They look at me curiously and I make cursing comments about the mental stability of the property owner. One male is more burly than the other, their ages seeming around thirty-something and twenty-something. He starts making rather absurd anti-family (and anti-relationship) comments - as if two people in a relationship and with a family and children is “wrong”. He then complains about me getting unemployment money, which is incorrect (though it does not dawn on me in-dream for some reason), as I have not gotten unemployment or any similar payments, including once in America when I was injured and the plant manager changed the details to the company’s benefit (a typical farce which I did not contest).

Though he is a bit bigger and more muscular than me, I still manage to punch him twice in quick succession and knock him back over what is left of the back steps. I tell him that I will do it. I wave my hands and focus on what I want and the damage to the house starts to reverse. The previously destroyed extended back roof and its foundation starts to join together and it goes back up, all the pieces floating in midair and eventually aligning in a stronger form than before. Parts of the exterior walls come back together and go back up to restore the structure, yet also improve it. I walk under the restored roof, looking up, seeing that it is more heavy and complex than before, with steel brackets. It is still joining together at this point as I walk under it, but I do not feel at risk as I had in similar in-dream scenarios in the past, even though it would crush me if it fell.

The older male (still lying on his back but now recovering) looks at me in awe and frustration and says something like, “You mean you just sit here in this house with your family when you can just wave your hands and do anything you want?" I am not sure how to respond (this may be a play on how my supposed intelligence stays "invisible” to the majority - though the “invisibility” seems to work “automatically” as well - though I am still not sure of the “Source”), but I do not want them back at any point. Marrying my beautiful dream girl and having a family, after all, was what I wanted in reality since earliest memory. Looking at the two stunned men, I do not know what else I could possibly want…except to be away from infantile mainstream philosophy and the infinitely irritating dominant culture.

Morning of October 17, 2014. Friday.



In my first dream, I start to go out the back door into the backyard of our present home. Before I get outside, I notice, to my right, a long row of watermelons growing on an oversized watermelon plant. They are each about twice the size of a real one and also longer than normal. At first I am in awe about the overgrowth and wonder why they have not yet been picked or used. I then start to think about how we could live on them for a long time. They look very healthy and nutritious.

My above dream experience was seemingly triggered in a telepathic sense (for lack of a better term), as my wife saw a very large watermelon on a television show she had watched and not mentioned it to me at all. She said she had been wondering how they grew so big. This happens continuously from day to day though; that is - dreaming of something Zsuzsanna had been focused on but not told me about. There is, however, an interpretation at that level regardless of the other influences. It always relates to an interesting and complex very personal synchronicity.

In another dream, there is a foundry that is somewhat rundown but still in operation in an unknown town. Two unknown males are working at the time. They seem to be in a cheerful mood. There are numerous giant antlions (both larva and adult flying form) that come in, seemingly endless in number. They (the larvae) are each about the size of a watermelon. Many of them (mostly the larvae) end up falling into a deep shaft or deep vertical pipeline where they are apparently incinerated. The multitude of these giant insects does not seem that threatening a situation even though they seem to be all over the world. Their being trapped like this seems to be some sort of coordinated effort to decrease their population.

It is curious that both watermelons and antlions represent sensuality, the first in a positive life-enriching sense, the second in a negative sense regarding commitment (in fact, the main genus of antlion is Myrmeleon, an amusing but unintentional distorted play on “my melon”). Watermelons, with their round curves and pink flesh, are nourishing, while ants go so far and then are committed to their choice and cannot get away from their involvement no matter how much they tread ground. This is probably me contemplating how I see myself in contrast to society. I have had fulfilling sensuality most of my life, especially over the last twenty years, yet at some levels, see human society as an “infestation”, yet not without a “foundry” to reshape potential.

Morning of October 7, 2014. Tuesday.



I am living with my family in an unfamiliar setting. It does not seem to be a composite of (or have features of) any known locations. Assuming the main wall which I am near at the beginning of the dream is oriented south (which feels right related to where I live now), there is a hall that goes to the south in the southeast corner of the room and a large bed comes out from the middle south-side wall. It may have a frame rather than just being on a box-spring mattress but this is not clear - it is fairly low to the floor. Just east of the bed (south wall) is at least one large brown wooden wardrobe, similar to one we actually have. I am not clear on any other layout other than the room I am in though it seems there may be a large kitchen to the west via a doorway in the northwest corner of this room.

My youngest son is present when I look up and see a small person on top of the wardrobe sitting on his knees and looking down at us warily. It is a male but I am not sure of the age, possibly a young boy, but he seems like a weary old man in some ways. He is only about a foot and a half tall at the most. He is wearing a drab and baggy mossy green jumpsuit with a hood that covers most of his head except for a small region of his face. I say to my son, “Oh look, it’s a leprechaun”. I ask him if he is hungry and he nods tentatively. I reason that a rat or two may have stolen his last meal, which was probably only a bread crumb.

I reach up and take him down with a hand on each hip, trying not to hurt him. I stand him on the floor near my son and continue to say “Look…it’s a leprechaun”. My son seems interested in seeing this “magical creature” in our house. After a time, I realize that it is probably not a leprechaun but just a homeless man that had found his way into the house and had been hiding in the walls for a time. This seems a fairly common occurrence. I tell him that I am sorry for calling him a leprechaun but that my son likes leprechauns (false in-dream memory). He does not seem to mind and then seems more like a boy with a disease that is linked to why he is so small. He seems a bit unsteady so I place him in the bed because he says he has a medipack of food he needs for nourishment. He needs to place it directly into his stomach which is fitted through a tube on his side.

After several minutes pass, I look around and see a young plain-looking girl with shoulder-length straight blonde hair. She is looking around the corner of the edge of the hall. She does not seem familiar in any way but I seem to understand that she is the boy’s sister. I say, “oh, hello” and she leaves after smiling a short time.

Soon after this, an older male walks partly into the room and I realize that we are being visited by possibly a friend of a member of my wife’s family in Brisbane. He does not look familiar in any way, either. I tell him that his son is having a meal and resting. I also tell him about a couple recent encounters with similar miniature people (except that one was only about six inches high) that were homeless (false memories, of course). He talks about how unfortunate it is that some people with this disease do not have homes or proper care and walks back to apparently the living room of this unknown house.

I go to take the boy from the bed (he seems very listless and possibly ill at this point) because a mess is being made from the food pack because of a leak. I ask him if he can stand after standing him up on the floor because he seems a bit wobbly and I am not sure if he can walk very far. The food is like some sort of green mush, like mashed peas or porridge but quite runny. A lot of green goo is running over the bed and dripping down the side onto the floor. This is quite annoying and messy but I do not want to show any anger. Instead, I mention to myself that I will have to get a towel and clean it up. I am kind of glad that the people are only visiting and will not be here very often.

My youngest son (who I was showing the rather ominous in afterthought “leprechaun” to in this dream) went to the hospital a day after this dream (has not been in several years) with some sort of totally unexpected unknown stomach virus. He seems to be doing better. Thus the typical layer of precognition (which I even sensed in-dream this time but did not want to).

Also, something I had left out from the original entry involved a play on “leprechaun” being like “leper-con” (relative to the disease.

Morning of October 6, 2014. Monday.



In my dream, I am lying in a (unfamiliar) bed, seemingly after an implied in-dream “sleep”. I am not sure of the time, but I think it is at night, though it is seemingly morning at the end of my dream (a typical lack of dream continuity or coherence). To my left is a male (once a drug addict but also a former coworker) named Don K, who I have not seen at all in about thirty years (and last I heard he was committed for an attempt on his parents’ lives among other things related to drug abuse). The room I am in is actually the pinhead’s, Leonard S, at the south end of the King Street boarding house. The bed is out from the east wall (Tenth Street side) but closer to the north wall, a place a bed had never been in reality (at least during the time I lived in the building). Donald seems to be sleeping but having some sort of spontaneous arm and leg movement.

After a time, an arm and hand comes through the window from outside (being a repeat of a scene from a different recent dream) - supposedly from a person standing on the Tenth Street sidewalk. This is not possible (in reality), as the room is on the second floor as well as the window having a screen, but that rationalization does not even begin to form in-dream (being typically impossible “nonsense” with the mind’s logistic and analytical abilities seemingly not functioning at all). I am not sure whose hand it is, but my brother Dennis shows up soon, so there may be a chance it was him but I do not ask him about it. He had rode his bicycle to the house (from the south I think, possibly from the smaller grocery store). The area of the room to the north is more open than in reality, more like a lobby of sorts, with only a partial wall dividing the space that would be a hallway in reality. The whole area is quite bigger than in real-life and looks more like the living room downstairs.

My brother sits down in a chair on the north side of the bed. I am not clear on what he is talking about. Don continues to flop his arms and legs around, becoming a more annoying presence. There is something about a “virtual girl” in a magazine and she has aspects of a young version of my wife (though I have no in-dream memory of the last thirty years of my life at this point). Her imagery is set out in a sequence of (upright) playing-card-sized panels in the magazine (vaguely reminiscent now when awake of an older dream with actual playing cards) but I am not even sure if Dennis is aware of the magazine or if it is some sort of dream within the dream trying to formulate and “take over” my original dream.

Dennis leaves, I believe by my becoming annoyed with him for some reason and telling him to go, but he tiptoes out as quietly as possible so that the landlady will not know he is there. However, as he is tiptoeing and walking stealthily, he still somehow makes a lot of clomping noises that sound quite loud and echo throughout the entire building as if amplified through loudspeakers or intercoms.

After he is gone, the landlady comes in and I get that usual recurring in-dream awareness that I had been living there for nearly a year without having paid any rent (and in this case, it is not even a room I had ever rented in reality). She tells me to get out. She swings at me with a rolled-up newspaper but misses. I am not sure if anyone else is living in the house and not sure of Don’s status (he was evicted in reality but I never was). She says that she has a dairy farm now and poses as if to attempt to strike me with the newspaper again. I ask her if I can help there (to pay back what I supposedly owe her) and she says “no”, seeming near-despondent about her frustration with me. I am very annoyed after waking and cannot believe I did not catch that I was dreaming all that time.

Morning of October 5, 2014. Sunday.



I am with my family, as we are now, in an unfamiliar home in an ideal location (or so it seems at first), at least relative to the scenery and clean air. It is not too close to the city and not too far from it. It seems our house is one of the last ones at the end of the street (assuming south), with no houses across the street from us, that area being a sparse but green forest. The house is about twice as large as our present real-life home. At first, the setting seems as favorable as possible. At one point, though, I notice a female actually “in” a window two houses away to the north (though the very next house to the north is empty). She seems to be watching our house, mostly our activities in our front yard. I am cleaning up a bit of the weeds and the children are kicking a ball around. The staring neighbor does not seem problematic or bothersome and is fairly far away as it is.

I head into the backyard from the southern end of the front yard as I notice at least two dogs barking. The next-door fence to the south is not that high (less than four feet) and is little more than a quite sparsely structured chain-link type. In fact, one of the larger barking dogs easily leaps over the fence, followed by a smaller one. I immediately have concerns about my wife and children, but they soon go into the house. The larger dog, which I think is an Irish Setter, is able to swallow one of our black-and-white cats in one gulp. However, after a short sadness of the loss (and additional concern about what they might do to our children on a later date), the cat comes out again and seems okay after lying on the ground not moving for a short time. The other cat is not swallowed in this manner but is still fighting back. I have no fear of the dogs regarding my own safety (unlike in my early childhood dreams).

I get a large bar (barbell) and start whacking the heads and spines of the dogs, though I am not sure I can get them back over the fence. This does not seem right at all, to live next to someone with large noisy dogs, especially ones that can intrude into our yard.

Eventually, a drunk male comes out into his yard. I am ready to start whacking him as well. In fact, I do so several times, though he is not killed by either the side-strikes or the forward thrusts of the long barbell. He gets up each time, but it is hard to tell whether the alcohol or the bashing on the head has interfered with his coordination, speech, and actions. Eventually I tell him that he will have to move out. Oddly, it seems I am certain of having a say in getting rid of him soon. I tell him that no one should have the right to have a larger problematic dog next-door to someone else, especially with a see-through or shorter fence.

Though I am not lucid, I am still somehow purposely able to “reset” the dream semi-consciously somewhat. I am able to cause a large wooden fence to rise from the ground until it is about ten feet high. Not only that, the fence is somehow completely soundproof as well as having some sort of internal (and “hidden”) advanced technology in controlling sound. I am aware (while in my “orb” form - or disembodied in-dream) of an amusing scene where the man is somewhat surprised at seeing the new fence. He tries to talk through it, saying “Hello?” and his own voice is reflected back (slightly louder) from behind him somehow. This is how it works. He does this several times, with his voice echoing back louder each time, seemingly from the outer walls of his house. He seems completely puzzled and remains in a stupor.

Eventually, I decide to “take” the entire neighborhood without recompense to anyone else. My family will live here for a long time.

Optimized 1 minute 45 second read.

Thursday morning, 2 October 2014.

A Big Fly Crawls From a Small Pipe and Bites Me

Dream # 17,454-02.

I am in the bathroom of my current real-life home. I recall I need to replace a tap spindle because the shower’s hot water does not turn off completely. (In reality, the spindle threads had worn; the handle turned without tightening.)

I focus on an area near the ceiling where a small pipe capped with a bolt juts diagonally downward. (The feature does not exist in reality.)

Something undetermined inside the pipe, seemingly alive, is slowly pushing out the bolt. It turns out to be an unnaturally big green bottle fly doing this. It emerges after it pushes the bolt out. (There is no backstory implying how it got inside the pipe.)

The fly painfully bites the middle of my right forearm, which I assume may be fatal. Without emotion (because of dream state intuition), I sit at the foot of our bed to wait for Zsuzsanna.

An unfamiliar man of about 40 (this dream’s protoconsciousness) sits in our lounge room. I do not perceive him as an intruder. I think he might be here to help me with either the plumbing or my presumed medical emergency (even though such an immediate response would be impossible in reality), but he does not react.

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Upon waking, I realized my dream’s pain was an exaggeration of “pins and needles” caused by uncomfortably sleeping on my right arm. (I often sleep on my left side, unlike here.)

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A life form emerging from somewhere, especially an enclosed area, correlates with my anticipation of exiting the dream state. It is as simple as that.

The fly (somatosensory anticipation from neuronal energies increasing) emerges from the pipe (REM atonia decreasing through spinal neurons).

There is an additional association with achieving arm and hand mobility and strength because I swat at annoying flies in real life. My dream’s beginning exemplifies REM atonia by focusing on a tap handle unresponsive to a hand tightening it.

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If you still do not understand dream content causality, review the following:

I am uncomfortably sleeping on my right arm. REM atonia (natural immobility while sleeping) is also a factor here.

The dream state responds to this by presenting a situation where using my right arm (to tighten a tap) is infeasible.

Spinal (to the upper end of the “pipe”) motor neurons (“buzzing fly”) increase my awareness of my wrongful sleeping position until pain (“fatal” fly bite) becomes the predominant focus.

Sitting at the foot of our bed in the last scene demonstrates metacognition as a precursor to wakefulness.

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