non-lucid

Morning of August 7, 2018. Tuesday.

Reading time: 1 min 22 sec. Readability score: 73.



In my dream, I am present and seemingly corporeal, going from place to place by walking, yet I do not interact with dream characters or events. A supernatural story unfolds. No fear or concern exists.

The setting is unfamiliar. An unknown residence is near a lake. The events mostly take place at night. There is the typical indoor-outdoor ambiguity in some scenes.

A male vampire had killed his master accidentally. He had mistaken him for someone else and had thrown him in the lake. A female vampire is present at one time, and she is concerned at how he had killed the wrong person. The male walks around, uncertain of what to do. Their original plans to take over human society will never occur.

In the last scene, I am standing close to the male vampire, though he acts as if I am not present. He stands near a table with a plant pot atop it. It seems to contain a Dixie Lace pitcher plant with real blood flowing through the veins.

He is pulling leaves from the plant and seemingly eating them. I hear him munching. However, I start to consider that he does not like the taste and is spitting it out rather than swallowing it. A leaf of the plant is blocking my view of his mouth, so I cannot tell how much he is eating. He may be only pretending. Before waking, I have a vague thought that I am on a movie set and that he is not swallowing the leaves even though the scene implies he is.

---

Something or someone being in the water (and the conditions and depth of the water) correlates with the curve of ultradian rhythm and the sleep cycle, though the infradian and circadian rhythm is also a factor at times, cycling from the presence of small ponds to flood dreams and water lowering waking symbolism. The cycle has occurred on a regular basis for over fifty years. The nonthreatening presence of the vampire was from remaining awake in bed longer than usual.

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Morning of August 5, 2018. Sunday.

Reading time: 2 min 36 sec. Readability score: 68.



My dream features several ambiguous transitions, as is often the case. A thread of my dream self identity that links to my current awareness of being with Zsuzsanna is present, but not much else.

The setting is mainly the living room of the Loomis Street house. The couch (near the south window as it was in reality) is not the couch of that time, but like the one from Cubitis when I was a teenager. (This is the one where the back dropped down to make a single bed.) Additionally, despite my lack of viable memory of my current conscious self, it also has the essence of the couch from our current home. Three-way ambiguity is a typical feature of my dreams. This setup does not “mean” anything other than the usual subliminal awareness of being in bed. Dream state indicators of this nature have occurred throughout every sleep cycle all my life.

A thread of potential consciousness initiation emerges. There are several piles of magazines in the storage area in the bottom of the couch. It reflects my desire to become more aware in the dream state (by focusing on printed text), but I remain non-lucid. Zsuzsanna is with me and seems very cheerful. I am somewhat puzzled by how so many magazines could fit under the couch seat, as they seem higher than the top of the storage area by several inches.

My desire for conscious awareness increases but shifts to a different scene. Now I am sitting on a blanket on the floor, still an association with subliminal knowledge of being in bed. An unfamiliar girl is sitting on the floor near me. Later, an unknown male is also present.

I am sorting through various items that had been mixed in with the magazines (even though all the piles were flat). There are many loose screws and metal items. Some seem to be part of handyman kits. I start to gather pieces that go together, thinking that I could sell them. There are some singular hinges, but not all the screws are with them. One screw I try to match with the other is too different. (This all relates to my non-lucid dream self trying to build cohesive conscious self awareness in RAS mediation.) One set of hinges, when open, looks somewhat like the 2009 Chrysler logo. (This is probably this dream’s vestibular system correlation, as it resembles wings as well as having a doorway association.)

Once again, there is a change in awareness. The Loomis Street living room now takes on the typical essence of bilocation. My dream self is indoors and outdoors at the same time. On one level, it is still the Loomis Street living room. On another level, it is in an outdoor rural area near an unfamiliar farm. An interconsciousness avatar is present as a farmer. The farmer’s origin is the Loomis Street house’s northeast bedroom, which is simultaneously an open section of a barn.

---

I am looking at a metal uterus, considering it is part of a V8 engine. It is rather light. It has what seems like small multicolored scales over most of its surface. I say how it is “ragged” as I move my fingers over the scales, thinking of it as an analogy to long-term use and becoming rusty. I give it to the farmer to look at, and it seems he may buy it for a V8 tractor. It is still in good condition according to him.

The last part of this dream, in part, comes from our youngest daughter’s T-shirt that features sequins which change color when moving your hand over them. They also feel like small “ragged” rough scales. Another association stems directly from many years ago. A highly intoxicated unknown male had stopped at a rummage sale on Loomis Street and bought one of my father’s hole cutter drill bits even though its surface was mostly rust-covered.

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Morning of August 4, 2018. Saturday.

Dream #: 18,856-02. Reading tim: 1 min 40 sec.



I am watching television with Zsuzsanna. It may be our present address on W Street, though the focus is mainly only on the imagery on the television screen, which at times seems very close and three-dimensional, though not as if I am at the locations as in other dreams.

It is a reality show about conveyor belts in different locations. The whole show mostly features items and people moving on conveyor belts.

A baby is lying on a moving conveyor belt at one point. They are moving from right to left in all the scenes.

At one point, the sawed-in-half woman from “Beetlejuice” (from 1988) is on the conveyor belt, except that it is Winona Ryder in the role. Her upper half is smoking a cigarette. Although the scene is strange, my dream self perceives it as “real.”

As threads of my conscious self identity become more viable in the waking process, I see two doll-sized men sitting on the conveyor belt. That seems wrong to me, as I know that all the previous scenes were “real.” I am considering telling Zsuzsanna that this is a fake event. I can see two unfamiliar normal-sized people in the background, with the miniature men in the foreground.

As I think of talking about the fake part of the show, which seems to be the last segment of the episode, one of the tiny men relates that it is a test, implying effects and camera operation. (I had first thought it was an attempt to fool the audience.)

---

My dream self perceived the living sawed-in-half woman as real, without question (even though the movie reference itself is erroneous as Winona Ryder was in a different role), yet when the small men appeared after this, I knew it was special effects. That is often how the reactive representation of the waking process works, as I move closer to full consciousness and viable thinking skills. The same transition exists in thousands of previous dreams. It has nothing to do with “interpretation” (an idea shared by people who do not understand what the dream state is) but is a factor of the waking process itself, which anyone of reasonable intelligence would understand. It is similar to associations with liminal space where the waking process renders itself as features such as a jigsaw puzzle, detective, or an attempt to read something for cognitive arousal. It is in contrast to when RAS modulation uses conflict or unrealistic events to create the distinction and emotional reaction that triggers waking.

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Morning of August 3, 2018. Friday.

Reading time: 2 min 37 sec. Readability score: 75.



I find myself in a big, unfamiliar library that is part of a school building. It is seemingly the end of a school day. A female is present. She may be a teacher. It seems that most people have left. I am asked to clean up, as no one else is going to. I go through the aisles to pick up blankets and bed sheets (without questioning why these items would be “left behind” in a library). I also find a few towels. There are also several pairs of gloves, one pair that I believe is mine, so I put them on. There is also a winter jacket. From here, I decide that I will fly to the north side of La Crosse.

I am soon at the Loomis Street house. My brother-in-law Bob seems happy. He appears as he did in the 1980s. A boy is present that is theirs. I falsely remember that they had a child of about eight years old. Bob tells me that another boy was born recently. I ask him whose child this is, as my older sister Marilyn had died. It turns out that she was brought back to life by a business that offers this service. She comes into the house and seems as she was in the 1960s.

The house now seems like an ambiguous mix of the Loomis Street house (in America) and the Gellibrand Street apartment in Australia. A bed is in a similar orientation as it was in the Gellibrand Street place, where we lived when our oldest son was a baby.

Marilyn seems happy. The baby is on the bed and has a strange appearance, a big head, and a thin, wiry body. It is only a few days old. It is speaking coherently with a curious metallic echoing. The words are soft. I do not recall what he said.

I ask about Cindy, my brother Earl’s wife. She was brought back as well. Bob says that she has “a hundred years left (to live).” Curiously, I have no memory of Earl (who had also died in real life).

Later, Marilyn and I are talking about all the puzzle books she had given me, mostly from the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s, the majority of them Dell. (This was a real-life event.) They were in a big cardboard box. We talk cheerfully about difficult cryptic crossword puzzles. The harder ones are left for me to solve.

---

My dream self recalls that Marilyn had died, but also with the false memory she had one child that would now be about eight (though she would be far too old for this to be true). I remember my sister-in-law, but not my brother. I do not recall my current life status, yet the Loomis Street house (America) mixes with where Zsuzsanna and I lived years ago, which means a part of my conscious self identity is subliminally present. Dreams are a fascinating comedy of errors sometimes.

The last part (waking process rather than dream revivification) is from a trigger I developed in childhood, to make a dream more vivid and coherent by giving myself reading tasks or focusing on books or writing (though I also used coins for this), though now I mostly use computer associations. (An odd result of that is how computer technology is often on notebook paper in my dreams.) The association with solving puzzles also directly relates to the middle of the waking process, between the fictitious dream self and emerging consciousness identity.

The library trigger “failed,” but still displayed dream state indicators (bed sheets and blankets in the aisles), though the usual vestibular system correlation (flying in this case) was present. I put on gloves to mask my conscious self identity and physicality. It shows that I was in non-lucid control of my dream (as is most often the case) but with odd results and the usual dream state amnesia when non-lucid.

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Morning of August 2, 2018. Thursday.

Reading time: 1 min 55 sec. Readability score: 75.



In the first part of my dream, offset from water induction (which begins each sleep cycle, based on sleeping in the waters of the womb), there is a situation where I may be a witness relating to someone throwing someone into the ocean. An unknown female is sitting in the first row of seats in an unknown location. I am trying to remember if I had thrown the person in, perhaps drowning him, and if so, whether I should leave. (Of course, this is the liminal thread from my conscious self entering the “water” of sleep and my dream self’s thoughts distorting, losing such threads.)

I find myself looking into what seems to be a terrarium with holographic content. A spider is at the bottom and appears to be real rather than a hologram. I marvel at the three-dimension patterns in the higher area. Somehow, the spider gets out, but I do not see it after this. There is a plastic lid at the top that does not seem to fit correctly. An unknown female cheerfully tells me that they had found the spider.

From here, I have to buy groceries for someone, apparently including a can or more of soda for the actor Richard Dean Anderson, who appears to be about twenty-five years old. Instead of walking with two unknown males who are going one direction to do this favor for him, I follow Richard Dean Anderson, who is walking in the opposite direction from them. He is wearing a loose-fitting moss-colored uniform. An unfamiliar man is walking ahead of him. It seems to be late at night.

The area remains unfamiliar. I tell Richard I will get him the drink, even though he is also going to the store. Going into the store, I have to squeeze past a few different people in a narrow hall at the front. One boy has to back up. I yell a few times when people will not move.

The situation changes. Now I am looking at videos high on the wall. One features a man with a nose that makes him look somewhat like a tapir. Looking around, I see other men with odd noses.

An unknown man at a picnic table appears to have a big dent down the middle of his nose so that it almost looks as if he has two, side by side. I start talking to him about synapses and how a synapse controls nose shapes. His nose changes several times as he is talking to me, and appears to be normal at one point. I consider that I may not be seeing him correctly, as he seems unaware of the changes.

Still, he does not understand what I am saying. He seems to think that brains do not do anything. I have to explain to him that they are the most important thing, as they determine everything.

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Morning of August 1, 2018. Wednesday.

Reading time: 1 min 9 sec. Readability score: 58.



In the first part of my dream, there are associations with lucid dream experiments I did in my childhood. Mainly, it is my development of a field as a setting, to give me open options. It involved closing my eyes while running through the area and eventually opening them after deliberately running for a long time. In one of my most vivid lucid dream experiments of that time, I opened my eyes and found myself at the top of a tower, having no perception of running up the spiral stairs, but recognizing it as the emerging consciousness factor. After looking out over a beautiful landscape, I phased through the wall and flew up and out of my dream, maintaining perfect vestibular system correlation.

In my dream, there is communication with another dream journalist. He talks about his “power” based on what I had written in my journal when I was very young. It involves creating the field setting, running very fast, though while counting to seven, and teleporting to a random location. The results are vague. I am not a dream character, only a distant observer to his antics.

Later, he is writing a response to how another experiment turned out. That one is more like one of those fake personality tests on the Internet and which some Facebook users post the results of (which is ultimately pointless).

In this case, he takes several of the same tests. It involves connecting random dots inside a random circular pattern. The results are different each time, though that is likely because he connects the dots differently each time.

He seems to be annoyed by the different results based on his different choices and starts writing about “apologists for life” in the comment section.

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Morning of August 1, 2018. Wednesday.

Reading time: 48 sec. Readability score: 76.



I am in a setting that is reminiscent of the “Gunsmoke” (television series) set, outside of the Long Branch Saloon. It seems to be morning.

A rendering of the interconsciousness is present. It is an unknown male of about twenty years old who is standing in the street as I sit on the curb. The man does not seem familiar in any way.

He is talking to me about another unknown male who had left the area. I have no focus or recall of a backstory. I have to ask him to repeat certain words and information several times. (This is typical of this stage of the dreaming process. In many cases, I perceive it as gibberish.)

He tells me that the other male had gone to Perth. He has gone to see a band called “Sister Cities.” (I do not know of any group with this name.)

---

I am going to assume this is a random thread from the interconsciousness, that may or may not have anything to do with me. It is a different process than when I force a preconscious avatar to respond in a certain way or when I use my mental voice to speak through my emerging consciousness.

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Morning of July 29, 2018. Sunday.

Reading time: 2 min 29 sec. Readability score: 71.



In my dream, I am in an unknown location. There is one area where many unfamiliar people are sitting at picnic tables.

Zsuzsanna is with me. I am planning on going on a long journey to other parts of the world. There is at least one thread of dream state awareness, though my dream self is not lucid. I remember that I can create whatever I want.

I ask the group if there is anyone who wants to travel with me. A few seem doubtful, as I do not appear to be wealthy. However, I recall that I can produce unlimited amounts of money. Still, when I open my wallet to show a few different people, the bills are play money. Although the imagery changes several times, it is still play money. Each time, the notes are all identical other than when I take them out, and there are about four different types, which look like fake foreign currency.

Despite my anticipation (subliminal RAS mediation), I am confident that things will go as I expect. Only one male seems cheerfully keen on joining us. I tell the people that one of the locations we will be going to is Easter Island. I say that I do not remember its name. (This, of course, makes no sense as I had spoken it.) I am thinking of a name like “Tahiti” or “Tahoe,” which I say to them as well, but I am unsure. They do not respond to my ridiculous state of absentmindedness.

Zsuzsanna and I, and the other man walk near an unknown shopping mall. She is soon walking farther away on my left, and the man is walking farther away on my right.

My dream changes and we are in a strange composite of the Arcadia post office, the Loomis Street house, the King Street mansion, and our present home. The orientation is mostly as the Loomis Street house, except the second storey mixes with the first.

Toward the back of the house, I hear an unknown female voice scream, “Please…someone…help me!” It seems to have something to do with her baby in a pram nearby. That wakes me up. I am unsure if this stems from a subliminal awareness of Zsuzsanna not being home at the time which I did not know until waking up (and perhaps created by way of my own RAS model) or if it was a thread from the interconsciousness from an unknown person. Due to its realism, my guess is the latter, but I have no way of knowing who it was, at least yet.

---

(When I had the vivid spoken words and event in a dream about a girl named Isabelle falling off a balcony, including her last name, I thought that was spiritual confirmation of using the name Isabelle for our daughter, which we did, as we had already considered it. However, someone with that full name fell from a balcony at that same time. I had already heard variations of the last name in dreams, Colman, but I was not familiar with it in real life. Our daughter was born on the 26th of November in 2012. This type of event has happened many times before, even with John Belushi and even with more insignificant dangers in contrast to death, such as the fuse box fire regarding my older sister Marilyn and the toaster fire at age four, regarding my sister Carol. I remain uncertain why I happen to be the one to perceive it, though with Zsuzsanna, her “sending” was strong long before we met in real life and determined to be intentional and a viable way of communication we still use, though less since she got her cell phone.)

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Night of July 27, 2018. Friday.

Dream #: 18,848-06. Reading time: 1 min 16 sec.



My dream starts with becoming aware I am watching a series of “Grimm” episodes. I am not focused on specific content, mostly indoor character interactions.

The episode I am watching is meant to feature the Eisbiber (“ice beaver”) played by Danny Bruno (as Bud). Over time, it is Neelix, played by Ethan Phillips, from “Star Trek: Voyager.” Neelix acts like the Eisbiber character. He moves, nods, and shakes like an Eisbiber, but his appearance never changes.

The images become a “real” studio setting with the actors (rather than the characters they play). They are filming in the actor David Giuntoli’s house. Over time, there is no one else around. It seems late at night. I consider I may not know how to get out. I stumble around in the dark in what may be a kitchen (though it is like our kitchen in real life).

Soon, it is light enough to see. David walks out from a room in a white bathrobe. I start to explain to him how I was a tourist who somehow ended up in his house.

He nods, saying (without emotion), “Uh-huh. It’s time to go home now.” He turns to go back into his bedroom. I notice two big spotlights on the floor as I find my way to a doorway. They seem broken.

---

The last part is typical RAS modulation, with a celebrity as the modulatory avatar (in a role as a detective, one of the more common forms). It is a typical subliminal “return to bed” directive that occurs at least once in every sleep cycle.

The rest is a reactive representation of the waking process. It includes an association with beavers (as in building a dam, which causes water to lower, with water otherwise being the reactive representation of sleep dynamics). Bud transforms into Neelix as the vestibular system simulacrum. (He travels in space.) The broken spotlights represent my dream’s ending.

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Morning of July 26, 2018. Thursday.

Reading time: 1 min 51 sec. Readability score: 71.



My dream starts with a scenario involving what I think are people working for the EPA. I am present, though I am not originally a part of their group. Something happens to an unknown male. It involves a tree that had fallen on him.

The background story changes. The leader (probably Andrew Wheeler) gives me the job of guarding the man who was injured (probably Scott Pruitt). I am to pretend to be a police officer during his hospital stay. I tell them that I do not have experience doing this. They say that they will give me the proper outfit. I am to stay in his hospital room until further notice. Later, I am wearing a turquoise uniform.

I sit in a chair on the left side of his bed. He does not wake or move at any point. His head is at an odd angle, as his pillow elevates his neck but no other part of his body or head. It appears he might be uncomfortable (even though he is asleep), though I cannot be sure. An unfamiliar nurse tells me, “Well, it’s better to have indigestion than a broken neck.”

As I sit there, I feel confident in my role. Eventually, however, an unknown male walks in, a police lieutenant of about sixty years of age. He stands across from me and talks to the nurse. Although I feel confident in my role, my non-lucid RAS mediation begins to waver. I start to realize that I might have been given an incorrect police uniform from another department. I also consider that he probably knows all of the officers in the area and eventually start to question who I am.

Eventually, the RAS avatar responds to my silent subliminal commands and stares at me. “What are you up to here?” he says in his role as the police lieutenant. He brushes my uniform, and I notice some dust on a few areas of the jacket. I realize that he knows I am not one of his officers and not even wearing the correct uniform for this region.

He does not tell any of the hospital staff that I am an imposter and does not even question me from here. He turns around and walks to the doorway. “You’re going to regret that,” I boldly call out after him. I start to tell him that I am “working undercover.”

Then I realize, looking to my right, that the other man asleep in the bed is me, literally under the covers.

---

It is virtually the opposite of a dream from yesterday, where transpersonal interconsciousness avatars were posing as female police officers, and I questioned them (except in that dream, “An Unwarranted Treasure Hunt,” more of my conscious self identity was present). How hilarious can it get?

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Morning of July 26, 2018. Thursday.

Reading time: 2 min 48 sec. Readability score: 56.



In my dream, most of my current conscious self identity no longer exists. Only one identifiable thread remains for this excursion into the absence of self.

I am about 15 years old again. My mother is alive and present at one point, but I am unaware of my father. (This is the typical absence of viable memory and “means” nothing. In other dreams, I remember my father and not my mother. It is because the dream self does not have viable access to the unconscious mind, contrary to popular misconception. The preconscious has limited access, but the dream self does not. Additionally, the preconscious always knows it is dreaming when the dream self does not, which is why RAS avatars and emerging consciousness simulacra are rendered in the last dream of a sleep cycle to initiate the waking process.)

There is a thread of awareness that I am in bed asleep in reality, though this is a common factor of subliminal presence, not an indication of lucidity, as my dream self is not aware of being in the dream state.

I am writing in my dream journal. As I write, I notice a gentle rain outside. My bed is in the northeast corner of the room, lengthwise to the north wall, the head oriented east. I see the orange grove beyond the carport, though the rendering is different from real life. I am looking through the open jalousie louvers of the carport door. (This setup is likely my subliminal awareness of a doorway representing a dream’s potential exit point, a typical form of reactive representation in the dream state since early childhood.)

As I write, I vaguely recall that other people read my dream journal, but the recall is not full, that is, I do not remember that the Internet (or computers) exists. The thought about other readers is there, yet it does not trigger the emerging consciousness factor or RAS activation until later (and there is not a separate preconscious waking process in this dream, mostly because it is not the last dream of my sleep cycle).

On one level, I am aware I am dreaming. On another level, my dream self does not hold this realization. This enigmatic state has been common to my dreams since early childhood and is not lucidity, but is one of many reasons why I know “interpretation” is not a valid concept. (Other than with factors such as literal prescience, I am aware of the processes that underlay experiences in REM sleep.)

My dream self is perplexed by the recall of how anyone could believe in “interpretation.” (My dream self remains without recall of the Barnum effect as a factor of causation.) Even as a young child, I sometimes went into several pages of why dreams held the causes, meanings, and effects that they did. I was more sarcastic of disinformation agents and empty-headedness at age eight than in my tamer rants as an adult since my 2004 online presence (probably because my mother often shared invalid beliefs about dreams she heard from people in her time, though most of which I still see on the Internet to this day).

As I am watching the rain and listening to its peaceful sound, I write in my journal, “When I am dreaming about rain, it means that I am dreaming about rain. You idiot.” (This is somewhat ironic, as I know water and its specific dynamics typically correlate with ultradian rhythm, the extent of muscular inactivity in sleep, and the dynamics of the glymphatic system. Still, this is in stark contrast to the asinine rubbish that “water represents emotions.” Additionally, even from when I was a toddler, I have always used the essence of water to reinduce the dream state as with its usage as such on virtually countless commercial recordings.)

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This dream mainly came about in response to the typical infuriating nonsense people sometimes leave on my posts on one site (as the site does not have the option to delete or block comments, so I remove the entry and repost it). It is unfeasible for me to post the same extensive paragraphs of information about RAS mediation each time as explanatory notes for a particular dream.

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Morning of July 25, 2018. Wednesday.

Dream #: 18,846-05. Reading time: 1 min 20 sec.



In the morning, Zsuzsanna received a message about a contest from an unknown sender, but I am wary. Although it seems like a legitimate competition at first, it turns out that a gangster had buried a jewelry box near our house (that in my dream is first a variation of the Loomis Street house and near the southwest corner, though the sidewalk is not present.)

Eventually, several unfamiliar men are near our house. They look for their buried jewelry box for the valuable items inside. I see them as intruders and realize at this point that it is not a legitimate contest, but that unknown men were using an area of our yard to hide their loot from other criminals.

I hit two of them with shovels, but I think they might have guns. I want to protect my family, but there is no logic in not letting them get what they want and leave without bothering us, so I wait. My family remains inside our house during this time. Eventually, the gangsters are no longer present.

Our house changes into a version of our present home. Two female police officers are in our kitchen. Each of them is wearing a blue bikini and a black trench coat, which makes me think they may not be real police officers.

I go outside to see them digging in two areas of our backyard. There is a police car parked there, and that could mean they are real police officers. I ask them if they are real cops. One of them looks at me with an annoying glance, saying that people only use the word “cop” on the Internet. I remain unsure if they are real officers, but I slowly wake as it now seems as if they are gardening rather than looking for loot.

---

When I was in middle school, a female bus driver, as my schoolmates were boarding, was angry upon hearing someone say “cop.” She said people should not say “cop,” because it was disrespectful.

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Morning of July 25, 2018. Wednesday.

Reading time: 1 min 25 sec. Readability score: 64.



Throughout my life, I have had numerous dreams in which I produced music using a surreal method. Some that were significantly more abstract involved my body becoming different musical notes in a series as I remained in bed.

In this dream, I have a setup where I make music videos for people based on video content they give me or notes on where to find the content. I produce this music by using a machine that looks like a filing cabinet.

I am creating three different tracks (two of which are similar), but two have minimal content and are only eight bars in length. I focus mostly on a reggae track that only has a kick, high hat, and a horn. The horn motif is mostly the same note, but with different duration. I am contemplating the addition of a snare, but I do not get around to adding one.

I arrange the music with each note of each instrument serving as a folder in the filing cabinet drawer. The rendering of the music begins from the front of the filing cabinet drawer. The lowest frequency of each beat is first in each sequence. The usage of timing and rhythm (implying sheet music format) involves reading each note from the bottom of each beat section (that the high hat indicates), moving up. For example, there would be a kick “folder,” followed by a few horn “folders,” followed by several high hat “folders.” It does not sound like a recording I have heard in waking life.

Before I wake, I am seemingly adding sixty-fourth “notes” between a few others that are probably eighths. However, I am likely adding sixteenths amidst eighths instead as I am not thinking clearly. I assume that because each folder features a couple of straight parallel indentations on each side, above where it folds. That would logically make it a sixteenth note. (A sixty-fourth note would have four such indentations.)

Curiously, my method of the folder placement in the drawer seems correct, although it would be difficult in reality. I do not see any sheet music to aid in the validation of the arrangement.

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Morning of July 23, 2018. Monday.

Dream #: 18,844-02. Reading time: 52 sec.



I maintain threads of my waking life, including my recall of Zsuzsanna and our family. There is an unknown woman who has a daughter who is possibly mine. The only way to prove this would be for me to get a DNA test. It is supposedly a painful process, but I am willing to take it by the end of my dream. A positive result will mean the girl will live with us.

At one point, I move my hand over the girl’s temple. It has a soft, raised area. I check my own and find the same feature. I talk to the members of my family about the identifying feature they have as well. I still need to confirm the DNA test. I am wary of it at first.

On one level, there is no logic, as there is no implication I had known the woman even though I am the girl’s father. The girl does not look like any of my real children, so I consider I may be wrong.

During the DNA test, I am ready for the pain, though I do not experience any. A male android pushes a big needle into my left wrist. I am lying on my back on a table. A glass box is above me, where icicles grow from the top.

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Morning of July 23, 2018. Monday.

Dream #: 18,844-06. Reading time: 26 sec.



I talk with our oldest son about audio recordings.

Zsuzsanna had some of her cassettes and 45 rpm records out.

Much of what I say is nonsensical, and although I am unsure of how correct it is, I continue to try to resolve what I am saying. My idea is that music is magnetic and sticks to the nearest objects, which is supposedly a factor in the production of records and cassettes.

Although cassette recordings near magnets can lose their content, I am unable to explain that. Our son appears to be puzzled as I talk about how sound remains on records because of a magnetic field. He does not debate.

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