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Night of February 12, 2015. Thursday.



I am sitting on our bed at our present address on W Street. I have a couple brochures it seems, although one is of stiffer paper. At one point I am actually holding one piece of thin cardboard with three unrealistically vertically narrow photographs (though apparently not cropped) horizontally arranged and attached to it (possibly by double-sided tape). It is of family members including our youngest daughter playing with our youngest son but from a fair distance and not that focused on the subjects. Just as I start to consider (or vaguely question) where it came from, it sort of “pops” out of existence with a slight breeze leaving me somewhat surprised.

My perspective shifts into more of an internal awareness (though not fully disembodied, just in some sort of realm of analytical thought and solely closely-rendered imagery as is typical of some “reading” or “studying” dream types - though at this point I think I may still be technically in the same bed - possibly lying on my side with my head up a bit). I am looking at some sort of brochure that is possibly related to a daycare center, possibly in connection with the “Ninety-Nine Red Balloons” daycare center of many years back. There is a young mustached male (of about twenty-five) with a cluster of balloons. He is standing near a van but it is crudely illustrated (without much detail) as if by someone with minimal drawing or commercial art experience.

From here, I note one of the catchphrases which seems more related to a travel agency. It is something about the “milest of miles” (“Enjoy the milest of miles?”). This annoys me somewhat and I try to work out if I am reading it incorrectly. I also ponder “miliest of miles”. I end up becoming “stuck” in an in-dream fallacy; trying to work out which is more grammatically relevant in this particular case - “milest” or “miliest” (or both depending on the intent of the faux “messages” in the particular part of the brochure?) - of course neither of which are actual words - typical in-dream gibberish, something I have enjoyed noting and documenting since I was about six years of age, just for the pure ridiculousness and amusement of it.

Morning of February 8, 2015. Sunday.



My dream starts out in the factory I worked at when much younger, which made Ford Taurus parts. The foreman (and friend) who shot himself is alive again in my dream (as with another recent dream though he is normally a very rare dream character, especially over the last twenty years). I do not see him at first though. There is a factory loft which is like a mini-warehouse which is actually more like the loft at a different job when I worked for the college in maintenance at a large automotive-related classroom.

In my dream there is another foreman (though one level down from the main one whom is not yet present) who seems worried about something. I am apparently going to help him move some larger cardboard boxes in the loft. He does not go up to where I am. One longer box falls to the side (though not to the first floor below - it stops at the guardrail), but nothing breaks, apparently. It soon turns out that no one is supposed to be in the loft or touching any of the cardboard boxes at the time, except perhaps for the higher-up foreman. The penalty is immediate death by a foreman or supervisor.

The lower-level foreman tells me to hurry and leave the premises but then he follows me for a time to help me in my escape to the east as the other foreman has just arrived - and even though he seems somewhat cheerful, we are, in a way, apparently expecting the threat of soon being shot at or killed. We manage to run and keep ahead of the other foreman (though more of a supervisor), though I am not entirely sure of what would have happened had I stayed. After we run around a few unpainted concrete block wall corners after leaving the factory grounds, an unknown Filipino girl joins us. It is possible that she had been in the factory loft at one point or maybe is just a secretary trying to catch up with me in an enquiry relative to my next paycheck.

Even though we had been at Northern Engraving in Wisconsin, we are suddenly running south down Highway Seventeen in Florida (on the east side of it), although the area is more south than where I lived and somewhat unfamiliar. The male jumps on a harvester quite quickly and starts driving it, as we all go about the same speed, continuing southeast. We start to chant “invisible, invisible” (intending to become invisible) - an event borrowed from a childhood dream where I did the same thing (although also sunk into the ground to evade my pursuers). At this point, I actually feel a bit playful and am wondering how far behind our pursuer is. It seems he may have been joined by others.

We have to be more careful now. Apparently, word has been sent out and a group of hillbillies living farther south has been informed. This will not do because Randy Quaid (the actor) will likely be there with his rifle and may be able to stop us. We start running in and out of various small dilapidated hillbilly houses and through the various rooms as Van McCoy and The Soul City Symphony plays “The Hustle” (from 1975). For some reason, one unknown southern girl offers her house to run through. Room after room, I run, zigzagging where I need to, listening to “The Hustle”. The music follows me along cheerfully and playfully, overhead, as if from an undefined but omnipresent sound stage. After I run out through one back door of one small unrealistically-maze-like house I am aware of Randy Quaid (with the persona he had in “Paper Moon” from 1973) aiming his rifle at me from another backyard from near an external hot water tank. However, I am still running, heading east, leaving him far behind. I wonder if the two others had been captured…

Morning of February 2, 2015. Monday.



At first, I am in a privately owned store that sells primarily older collectable Matchbox cars. The counter is a rectangular area in the center of the large main room with an additional internal area for the owner/cashier who is an older male. I look at the various merchandise, some of which is in square shallow wells in the outer area (over a slightly slanted section) and some of which is more carefully arranged behind glassed-in shelves in lower areas; some of the Matchbox cars with the original box as sold. Many of the die-cast toy cars in the wells are missing smaller areas of paint. In one section, I look at a few different yellow bulldozers, Ground Grinders, and cranes. I pick up one that looks just like a Taylor Jumbo Crane number 11 from the 1960s. (There are also Dodge Crane Trucks and several others.) I get a false memory of it being from the 1970s, but the man mentions something about “optical illusions” when I talk about it and the invalid associated time period (but using a different term, I believe) and I look underneath to see the date 1989 appearing three times in close proximity, including the copyright symbol.



There are other people in the store including two unknown girls that seem to be shopping together. I eventually notice that there is a large flat screen television near the front of the store. It is showing an adult movie but of which is supposedly only a television show (of which I do not know the name of). A lovemaking scene is apparently beginning, but the man’s erection is actually an artificial device but which is otherwise somewhat realistic (and seems to “operate” somewhat like a miniature crane) - this being done relative to some sort of television standard where certain things cannot be shown. This still does not make much sense to me and is apparently a violation of the broadcasting law even as it is. The girls laugh, though more in shock and surprise at the show even though there is no actual nudity.

From here, there is an attempt to rob the store, it seems. The door is then actually locked from the inside with the present customers still in the store - which implies that the store owner must have known that the criminal was already on his way. Being somewhat concerned about this seemingly powerful burglar eventually breaking down the door as he pounds and pushes upon it (apparently with superhuman strength), I use some sort of ability to turn everything into steel including the door and doorway being one solid section.

There is a slight shift and I am outside in the same part of town and a man (perhaps the same robber) makes an announcement, shouting “not everyone here is human” (as if trying to divulge a conspiracy to all the members of the public in the area).

“You got that right,” I say (emphasis on “that”) as I immediately effortlessly fly upwards into the sky (seemingly being the only one in the region who is “not human”), doing this too quickly for anyone else to pose a threat. After flying around for awhile and enjoying the scenery, I land back near the same area. For some reason, I am aware of the robber being a part of a street gang and there being some sort of turf war. I decide to damage “his” area of the street, which is across the street from the store from the first part of my dream. I lift my hand and cause machine gun fire to spray the entire length of buildings on that side of the street. There is no gun; the bullets are just materializing from the motions of my right hand and putting large holes in all the buildings, with a lot of noise.

Later, my wife and another (unknown) female get out of a convertible and have a meal in one of the bullet-ridden restaurants. As I was the one who had done this, I do not feel wary in joining them at a small round wooden table (we are the only ones there other than the owner).

The scene shifts again and I am flying northwards over La Crosse. I fly into the back area of the King Street boarding house, up and over the back stairs, flying through the hallway. Now flying somewhat slowly, I see my wife in the hallway, as she had been looking for me. “Pardon me, just passing through,” I say to the other tenants. She smiles up at me and we leave through the front entrance, her walking down the steps though I am still flying slowly until we leave the building.

Finally we are all sitting in a convertible. My wife (the implied driver) is in the front seat with the other female and I have transformed into the Silver Surfer, sitting in the back seat behind my wife. However, we are all now sleeping until some sort of (scheduled?) event begins in a week or so, which seems related to a new Marvel movie. I soon look at myself (seeing my face as the Silver Surfer’s from semi-disembodiment perspective) and think about waking up and do, even though I was not lucid at any point throughout my dream.

Morning of January 29, 2015. Thursday.



My wife and oldest daughter return from possibly the library or shopping (though they are not noticeably carrying bags at the time) through the front door of where we presently live on W Street. When I approach my daughter she seems annoyed and possibly angry about something. The unusual weather from real life (or rather how it has been for several days previously) seems a part of my dream’s environment. It seems to be in the early afternoon.

I go into the backyard, facing east, and contemplate what I should say (or if I should say anything). My wife comes out and I hover in the air vertically, about five feet from the ground. She smiles and acts as if she thinks I may not know I am doing this and even asks me if I know I am floating in the air but I do not say anything coherent. (I have rarely had any trouble hovering or flying in dreams, though I do often become lucid when hovering. Such is not the case here, though I have always been intrigued by how natural it feels to float upwards into the air while standing.)

I soon become aware that my wife and oldest daughter are going out again, though I am not sure where. The large ugly parking lot in the area is back to being a pleasant empty field again. As I fly around, they walk northerly through the field, more to the eastern side of it. I fly down to see if my daughter is feeling well, but she now does not really look like my oldest daughter. She seems several years younger and has shorter black hair. In my dream, I do not coherently think of her as a third daughter though, and I am also not sure of her name (I do not call her by name in-dream anyway, as I recall).

I tell her that I am here and that she is talented and creative, so thus has skills to survive and attain whatever she wants. I tell her that she has always been a good daughter. I move from flying about to walking next to her on her right. She smiles, asking, “A daughter of…God?”

I slowly shake my head very lightly, as I do not care that much about being called “God” - it seems too generic and insignificant as well as with too many humanly diverse and limited religious associations. “The daughter of…everything,” I acknowledge. I tell her that I will be around to help her in any way she wants and then I fly back to the front of our house as they continue to walk wherever they are going.

I then have a bit of trouble closing the front doors (though I am mostly only aware of the main wooden door - the screen door does not actually seem present) due to hundreds of larger jigsaw puzzle pieces lying all over the floor, both inside and outside (in fact, they almost seem to multiply over time as I notice more and more). I make several attempts to get as many back into the living room as possible. Some of them are under the carpet (which is closer to the door than in reality) and I am thinking my youngest son is responsible for not putting them all away and I am complaining aloud even though no one is in the room. I do close the door a couple times, but consider that no pieces should be left outside (especially as it may be raining more heavily soon and water may come onto the porch). I am wondering how many different containers the pieces will fill. As I become more and more annoyed, I realize that I am dreaming and wake in gratitude that I do not have to sort and put away all the pieces (which may have come from several different floor-sized cardboard jigsaw puzzles).

Morning of January 29, 2015. Thursday.



I and my family are living back on Barolin Street (our last address) yet I do not become aware I am dreaming. The house is well-rendered, though seemingly with a longer hallway than in reality.

Somehow, a mostly colorless kit fox gets into the house (there are certainly none around this area in reality). It is only about the size of a cat (and actually seems somewhat catlike at one point). I had seemingly fed it inside the house at an earlier date.

Later on, when I pick it up in the main bedroom, it becomes very aggressive. It bites me on my right hand, leaving a mark in the same area where the talon grows from in another dream of the same morning. It also does not like how I smell, though insists on getting closer to smell more of me. This will not do and I move my hands over my lap in defense. I soon get up and open all the doors, including the side door to the outside and it eventually leaves our house, heading down our driveway into our backyard.

However, I become aware of two surfacing ideas to be concerned about. I get the impression that the fox may kill one of our pets (such as a cat or guinea pig - with the impression that one may have already been attacked or even eaten) and realize it had been so aggressive because it had not eaten for a long time (perhaps a few days). However, I am also wary of the neighbor’s large dog directly next door and how there may be a fight (though one does not occur) if it should choose to approach the fox. I can see the dog through the open doorway and it looks somewhat like a bloodhound, facing my direction. The male neighbors are also talking with each other, about four of them, sitting on chairs near their open side entrance and playing music (though which is not that loud, but there is still a very irritating cacophony of talking and annoying music).

As I walk back to the front of the house however, the noise soon completely vanishes, the perception changing somewhat unrealistically; more like turning the volume down on a radio, with moderate speed. This part of my dream “resets”. I am annoyed by the noise as heard in our living room, but again, it completely vanishes walking a short distance down the front hallway. At another “reset” point when I am walking, I get the strange perspective of walking down the hallway at Barolin Street and quickly materializing in my bed at our present address on W Street as if somehow walking for a short time through a distorted portal between real locations rather than coming out of a dream; an atypical waking perspective.

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There was very subtle precognition here; one (of three) of our guinea pigs died during the morning (though of apparently natural causes, not by being attacked by another animal).

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Morning of January 27, 2015. Tuesday.



I am in a somewhat uncomfortable dream state (likely from being overheated) and in reality am farther down on the bed than usual, somewhat in a sideways fetal position. I am mostly in muddled states of creative thought where I am trying to get my body to “rematerialize” correctly. Usually, it is only about two-thirds the correct size. I am also slightly hovering, shifting into body forms that suggest static statue forms for the most part, but sometimes distracting abstract tangents.

Some of the forms are just too abstract to build on, so this will not do - I cannot exist in an “abstract body”, suggestive of human or not - I might just float around and not have full control that way. I have to live and breathe in an anatomically correct physical body. It is difficult (relative to establishing more mental clarity) and mentally laborious trying to bring all the molecules together so that I may live in my body again after it is correctly remade, sometimes floating about a foot from my bed. At one point, my body is like “The Thinker”, but on his side and half the size of my actual body. Sections of my body in one last session and attempt are still missing as I decide to abandon the process.

Morning of January 27, 2015. Tuesday.



Although bilocation - of which there are different types related to both the dreamer’s perspective and features of the environment - happens all the time in my dreams, there is rarely any direct focus or even in-dream thoughts or reflections on the concept itself. Oddly, in this case there is, possibly because of being more and more focused on dream work over the years (especially in linking hundreds of certain dream types together for more precise analysis).

My dream is relatively short and uneventful. I become aware of my youngest son still being in the house when in reality he should be at the library. I talk to him and he claims he is at the library but is also here in the house. He even mentions the word “bilocated”. At this point, there is no distortion in his appearance and he acts as himself as well. This changes before my dream loses cohesion. I do not challenge his idea about being bilocated and my in-dream thoughts are not that coherent as it is.

Over time, the only dream-like event that occurs is me looking more closely at his face and seeing that it is not rendered correctly (as is typical with dreams). The whites of his eyes appear to be missing and replaced with salmon-colored recesses. His head is also a bit more vertically rectangular. I eventually realize that, as well as being older, he looks nothing like my son - even though he did at first before I focused on my dream’s environment more, though not with full lucidity (and in fact, he does not look realistically rendered at all, yet still not nonhuman). This is a good example of a dream becoming more distorted when you try to focus on a particular character a bit more (similar to when you try to read something in some cases), but of course, it does not always happen like this. There is no significant symbolism or meaning in this; it is simply how dreams work.

Morning of January 26, 2015. Monday.



This was a type of typical “gadget dream” where most of my dream’s details are rendered fairly close to my perspective with the in-dream environment not being that clearly rendered or defined.

I am looking at a toy that I think belongs to my youngest son. I think it may need to be repaired or at least taken apart and checked. I am not sure what it is meant to do. It is like a large plastic device that resembles a suitcase in some ways or perhaps an older toy movie projector. Inside one part is a VHS tape but which functions as a timing indicator perhaps. There also seems to be an 8mm film of Donald Duck which goes all the way around the VHS tape (closer to the outer edges of the containing section) when the device is working, although I have removed and apparently changed certain parts. Over time, the device just seems to serve as a container for some sort of View-Master-like toys in different compartments. The general appearance and inside changes quite dramatically by the end of my dream.

Morning of January 23, 2015. Friday.



Near the beginning of my dream, I notice that a television show is on which my wife Zsuzsanna watches with me. It is about a miniature man about four inches high living in the kitchen of an elderly lady who acts a bit crazy at times. A raccoon wanders about in the kitchen though the lady and her visiting friends refer to it as their pet rat. It keeps the miniature man from leaving the area while he hides in a paper sack on the floor, though he does get out a few times. It is a bit like “The Incredible Shrinking Man” from 1957 combined with aspects of “The Borrowers” from 1997.

Another woman, possibly the daughter of the elderly lady, is now in our “real” environment. Meanwhile, the older lady dances around on our couch, simulating a Chuck Berry act. We then seem to be on the set of the television show. The unknown woman has several children around the same age, but there is one toddler. A girl standing on a chair near the kitchen sink is bumped into by the toddler and she starts screaming about her hand. I see that her index finger is bent back and is apparently broken. Though she needs immediate medical attention, the mother completely ignores her. I decide that she should go to the hospital but I am uncertain about transportation or where the telephone is.

The scene shifts. Apparently the girl has died in the hospital from her broken right index finger. I am at the hospital, seated at a small table on my own, eating a bowl of small roasted chicken legs (in the hospital’s larger restaurant), which is somehow what remains of the girl. I eat one and a half of them (the taste being “realistic”; that is, it tastes like mildly spicy roasted chicken legs) before very vaguely mentally questioning the reality of the scene, though I do not become lucid. It seems that hospitals do this (cook and serve up people who had died) as part of their normal routine. However, after a time, I feel a bit strange in that perhaps saving the bones can help her somehow as there may be medical information engraved on her bones on how to restore her. There is also a sense that she is alive elsewhere but I am wrong.

Three unfamiliar men question me about the nature of the girl’s mother and what I may have been witness to, two on one side across from me, one closer to me near what resembles a bakery display in a grocery store where you remove what you want with tongs. We are in a different restaurant but still in the same hospital. (An older man is ready to be processed and cooked by a nurse to serve a visiting group of tourists and I get the impression of “pheasant under glass”.) The girl’s death is almost like an implied international conspiracy though the main male asking questions appears somewhat confused as well as very condescending. He says that there was more to it than a broken finger (possibly food poisoning or perhaps additional broken bones).

He starts talking about seeds and I have a false memory about her eating mostly only seeds from fruits and vegetables (some of which have concentrated toxins) and think this may have caused stomach problems. I mention this and the man starts acting condescendingly remarks that he had been talking about grass seed (which could have lodged in her appendix) and poison sumac and such in an outdoor environment. This leads to some sort of abstract illogical contemplation that fruits and vegetables only grow indoors. After a time, I start to call the man crazy and begin to get quite annoyed over his various theories and how it relates to the time zone, banking systems, investment portfolios, and foreign stocks. He also keeps mispronouncing words. The other two males do not say much. They may be Russian and not that familiar with English.

He mentions something about “anacondo” (which seems like a foreign organization for a short time akin to NATO) and I correct him, saying “anaconda” (though “anacondo” seems the male form of “anaconda” which is implied as female as with “amigo” and “amiga”) and I falsely “recall” that the woman had a pet anaconda that ate some of her neighbors. There is eventually an association with the family’s surname being “Langdon” but I am not familiar with it. I falsely “remember” that a female classmate had possibly married a Langdon and they all live on the third or fourth floor of an apartment building in different smaller apartments (even though the previous scenes were seemingly in a larger residence on the first floor) where I am then viewing from the street with Zsuzsanna as my dream loses cohesion.

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Watching a television in a dream can relate to either a dream within a dream or emerging (unintegrated) threads of consciousness of which the evidence here shows that more threads emerge and we become part of the scene. A raccoon is a rare symbol for me but likely means tiredness (due to the dark circles around a raccoon’s eyes. A hospital can be considered as a type of dream sign in some cases because of it being a place with beds. Eating may relate to actual subtle hunger during a dream (just as a need to use the bathroom is sometimes a real need when a dream renders it, though not in every case).

Morning of January 21, 2015. Wednesday.



I seem to be in La Crosse, but over time, I get a vague idea that I am not where I should be. However, I am not fully lucid at any point even though I regard my environment as if being in a dream. This is a fairly common state since early childhood but it is not of a fully conscious awareness as in vivid lucid dreams or scripted dreams. Another male is following me but is being more of a nuisance than being directly threatening in any way. Still, I decide that something needs to be done. In the back of my mind I seem to understand that I should physically jump out of my dream and try to find a different one. I eventually reach an area that is mostly like a cliff. I get the idea that the other male may just be coincidentally following me due to having some of the same interests, including jumping out of his dream. Still, I want to be on my own. The Dionne Warwick song “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” keeps playing in the background in this and a couple other dream sections (likely due to having heard it on “Helix”, which my wife and I had watched five episodes of on DVD just before - though I also played it on keyboard when younger).

The area I end up near is like an ocean of fog below me and reaching up to near where I am standing on the cliff. I sense that I am very high up. A version of the Golden Gate Bridge can be seen even though I am likely in Wisconsin near the Black River (for some reason, the Golden Gate bridge has replaced other actual bridges in a particular area in dreams). I also get the impression that it may be a newly bilocated version of the “eternity bridge” (a recurring dream feature since early childhood). I do not recall the bridge being rendered in Wisconsin before. It is normally bilocated from an unknown jungle and rendered over the shed in Cubitis, west to east, though the directional orientation seems the same here. It also seems I may be in a particular location on French Island (Wisconsin), but much higher on a fictional mountain or greatly elevated area. I decide to jump into the thick light-colored mist.



When I leap forward, my body takes the exact form and feeling as if doing a parachute jump, face down, and remains as such for seemingly a few minutes. I do not see anything in the fog as I move downward through it. I feel very good as well as safe. After a time, I take control and am able to fly precisely under my will at a particular held altitude. However, I sense that the other male is still behind me (though by a fair distance such as a full city block at least), perhaps with the intent to ask me a question or set of questions. I do not feel like giving anyone advice or anything so I fly “under” a “dream barrier” of some kind hoping that he goes elsewhere from there. I am not yet sure of his identity. He may be Don K who had appeared in another recent dream.

The “barrier” is a very old larger apartment building that is floating in the air within the fog with the bottom floors missing (recurring concept). I go much lower and then fly under it and through the empty area where the lower floors would otherwise be. The fact that I am flying under a large floating partial building does not trigger higher lucidity, but I do contemplate its nature with false logic. I get the idea that I am then entering another dream region once leaving the proximity of the building and the male following me will now end up elsewhere, far away from where I am going.

My dream shifts into a present family setting. I am aware of the large number of books we have in the house, likely far more than anyone else in the region. I decide that maybe we should give a few away to make some extra room. I find myself looking at an older Donald Duck story (with Huey, Dewey, and Louie) in a book somewhat like a Little Golden Book but a bit larger. I actually end up reading the entire book and contemplate if it should go into the giveaway pile. It is not that coherent. There is a part where ants ruin a picnic and another part where a heron-like bird has the power of invisibility within an arched window and plays tricks on passersby.

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Morning of January 20, 2015. Tuesday.



Most of my dreams had a positive focus regardless of the “leaky roof” theme in a couple of them. It had been thundering and raining off and on all morning and that put me into a very deeply relaxed “timeless” state. In one dream, I am simply watching the rain come down between the planks of the wooden ceiling, which is leaking profusely. My wife is with me. The only negative aspect was of telling some unknown people (and I am not sure why they are even in our house - oddly I have no typical perspective that they are not supposed to be there) that they do not know how to build houses in this region, especially roofs.

At one point, I am living in an unfamiliar region that is more of a rural area which has hardly any houses. I seem to be spending a lot of time sleeping on the roof of a shed which is probably not mine. It had been raining for a long time yet this actually seems to be a comfortable and nice setup for me. I also, though, get the impression of it being an odd habit (that no one else has) that I have had for at least a year or two. Someone, a male who is possibly the owner of the property, points out to me that the front part of the roof of the shed is lower than the rest of the roof and even has a partial recess in the shape made by me lying on my back on it over time (which of course is preposterous in a cartoon-like sense). I feel only the vaguest sense of being responsible for the roof needing repair at a later date. Oddly, sleeping on the roof in the rain seems to be the “proper” way to live. However, it is something I have not done in real life since age seventeen.

During the morning, I entered an altered state that seemed somewhat new. I have always had a tendency to enter unusual “cocoon-like” states (sometimes pleasant, sometimes frustrating) that seem to last for days (but of course are actually probably only about an hour or so) and they are always different in one way or another. These unique states often seem to have their own “rules” or “systems” that keep repeating over time and with precise contemplation (though which is distorted and only simulating false critical thinking).

In this case, I am feeling the mild thunder in my body as if I was being “made” by the thunder simultaneously, relative to both my physical position and my enhanced sense of peace that is near ecstatic. The “system” seems to have precise rules of timing and subtle change relative to the sparse rain and next thunder event. It seems this state, as well as the mildly rumbling thunder, will continue forever and I will remain forever (a perception which does not bother me at all) in a “field” of awareness created by the infinitely recurring thunder and light off and on rain, and with only occasional very slight movement on my part. This is a bit different than similar states where I “have” to move into a precise physical position every couple of minutes while sleeping (always switching to either left or right sides each time) so as to form a particular shape to hold for a certain amount of time (as if it is some sort of language or form of communication with an unknown entity), also as if it was sometimes some sort of system required by a physical “law”. There is often also a persistent false memory related to the dynamics of an individual “system” of physical positions or supposedly related environment ambiance while sleeping, again, usually different than any prior experience, sometimes involving mentally calculating waveforms or abstract forms.

Morning of January 20, 2015. Tuesday.



As my dream begins, I seem to be sitting on a bed (aligned along the west wall) in my father’s music room in Cubitis as it was around 1975. I have four cassette tapes. Two of them are in cases with seemingly commercial labeling and two seem created by an amateur outfit with store-bought blanks. Apparently, I am involved in my own dub recordings using these four cassette tapes as some sort of background audio.

Two of the cassette tapes have something to do with Captain Kirk (of “Star Trek”) though I am not certain if it is music, talking (such as interviews with the cast), the reading of a “Star Trek” novel, or sound effects from the show, or perhaps a random bit of everything. These two tapes have a cover with the same picture of a very young William Shatner as Kirk (sitting at a table with his hands clasped), with different label coloring on each as if part of a set or series. The other two tapes, or at least one of them, is an amateur fan fiction tape which also contains other things such as unusual sections of music and possibly a couple interviews or even unrelated random talking from a radio (or even just the static at times). I am not sure if the tapes are ninety minutes or an hour each, or perhaps much shorter, though I do eventually maintain the overall impression that they each are at least an hour long or half-hour per side.

Unlike many dreams of this nature, the tapes are not eaten by the cassette player and no other mechanical problems ensue. What I hear is actually not very unusual. It seems I do listen to the entire side of one cassette, at least, by which the last section is a shorter pad-like sound with dull and lower frequency dynamics. I hear it very clearly in-dream. Prior to this was two males talking in some sort of (possibly political) interview and there was also a speech by a male “Star Trek” fan and his work in an amateur “Star Trek” movie where he plays Captain Kirk. However, much of it seems like non-rhythmic electronic music and other sounds, including sound effects from the original “Star Trek” series. I am thinking on how I have yet to “filter” and compress the entire length of audio of that side of the tape and then add my own music over the top of it - by which it will then all sound completely different. I get the impression the first step will give the tapes a much better “silky” dynamic (with no tape noise or hiss whatsoever), but I am not thinking about low quality MP3s - which often have an overly silky sound as well as an irritating chorus-like funnel effect on high-hats and higher frequencies in general. It seems my “album” will only be on cassette tapes and oddly, I have no clearer memory of my work in digital audio at all.

Part of this is likely based on real-life memories of my father having bought “blank” cassette tapes at flea markets which had a variety of people already having recorded various random things on them, including cussing soliloquies and various incomplete radio “experiments”, with someone continuously changing the stations as they were recording.

Morning of January 17, 2015. Saturday.



I am not very focused in my dream but seem to have been watching a movie or series of shorter movies. One of them has a scene with my wife when she was much younger but the role is actually played by someone else - an unknown actress. In the scene, she meets with her best friend who is also played by someone else. There are other people around in the outdoor public area in the movie scene. I get the impression it is near a train station and in the afternoon though I am not sure of all the details. I am not sure of the name of the movie or of the overall plot though it is probably about Nimbin Australia in the late 1960s. I believe my family and I are watching the movie in our present home.

However (when my dream shifts at one point), once again, I find myself living back in the King Street boarding house where I had not lived since the 1980s. However, there is no in-dream prior association with any of my past apartments as my dream scene seemingly starts when I am at the top of the front stairs and looking downwards. Two men had been knocking on the downstairs front entrance, though oddly, I get the impression it is at the porch entrance (which has no doors) and so they remain on or near the outer steps or lawn (the porch layout is rendered incorrectly, the entrance being more centered instead of more to the left from the inside view - and in reality, it would be unlikely to hear someone knocking in that area). It is something to do with my wife’s friend having been run over by a truck - I am somehow already aware of this before I talk to them. I am not really sure what they want with me. It seems to be late morning at this point. There is some sort of strange three-tiered emotional perspective - the event having already just happened, being yet to happen, and happening at the time I am talking to the men (just behind them on the street - though I am not focused on anything that looks like an accident). I do not immediately recall having this particular level of perception in a dream before. It may be an influence from movies that have non-chronological sequences.

When I begin to talk with them, the one to the left shows me notes on smaller paper. I look at it and get the impression of a couple hand-printed paragraphs but he does not give me any time to actually read it even though his attitude is as such that I had somehow read it that quickly. The other male asks me questions on it as well but I mostly do not know how to respond. At any rate, I was not a witness to the event; at least I do not think I was (regarding my dream’s potential “back story”).

The person actually was struck by a vehicle (though lived) but that was a few years ago.

Morning of January 15, 2015. Thursday.



This is part of a sparsely recurring dream series over a lifetime where I have electronic devices (often radios; sometimes music keyboards or synthesizers) but of which often do not look or work as expected. In this case, there are three items I seem to have recently bought for whatever reason. The location I am in seems to be public and unknown. However, I also seem to be living there at one point. An unknown male is behind some sort of counter, but again, it seems like a residence for the most part.

The three devices I apparently bought are on the floor near an entrance. They are not new but supposedly in good condition at first. This changes, though. Each item, I put on the counter to show the other male. The first device is possibly some sort of scanner and printer. I notice what seems to be a small loose thin circuit board on the top near an open area that resembles part of a typewriter, more to the right. I touch it, thinking it may be an extraneous or loose piece from a different device, and it comes off, seeming to break as if it had been attached by very thin wires and circuits. I see that the electronics look a bit too small to be “real” but do not say anything. I push it back on, now seeing what resembles Velcro, and it stays on, but I assume it will no longer work due to the detached circuits (possibly related to a printer head), thus I am annoyed.

Another device I put on the counter is somewhat like a large radio, possibly a shortwave radio. There are two rows of larger square buttons on the right of about four buttons each. Each button has some sort of embossed symbol on it. At one point, some look like English letters such as “P” and “K”. One looks like a vertical line with a short horizontal line coming from the right of the middle (a symbol I have seen in dreams before). The symbols seem to change later on. At one point, one button (the third over, on the top row) seems to have all the symbols and letters in an abstract three-tiered cluster. Apparently, I have to enter some sort of password to get the radio to work or to initialize it. I try to enter the right code, but I am not sure how to go about it. I am somewhat confused about whether I should press just the one abstract combined symbol button or press the separate buttons embossed with each singular part of that symbol (or more like some sort of combination of both, trying to determine where the combined one fits in the sequence).

I pick up the third and last device from the floor. It is somewhat like a toy tyrannosaurus made of Plaster of Paris, on an electronic platform of some kind, though also has something to do with a computer game, I think. After a short time, I notice several loose sections (one of which looks like a tulip with one petal broken off as well as the separate petal itself) which I gather together in a small pile. I remain unsure as to whether all the pieces are present. Whatever it is supposed to do, I am not sure if it will work again. My dream begins to lose cohesion at this point.

Morning of January 13, 2015. Tuesday.



I am about twenty again and mostly working for the street department. In reality, I had been washing fire engines, pumping gas, filling in graves after funerals, carrying very heavy rocks from the side of the road to place in front of the main bulldozer route, replacing bulbs in exit signs, cleaning up a roomful of overripe exploded pumpkin in day care centers, removing hundreds of crayon marks from day to day, reading about how the last person in my position was in the hospital for asbestos poisoning, being accosted by an older lady (a complete stranger) while using a weed-eater on the curb (whom I refused due to the potential of being fired or even penalized by local government), and other diverse and interesting tasks.

Anyhow, back in my dream there seems to be an unknown older Russian male. My job has something to do with a “dead end” and is at least partly related to a red-and-white-striped saw horse - this in turn being related to a new musical composition somehow or at least aspects of sound engineering. It really does not make that much sense due to the fact that the “dead end” is right near an intersection and on the corner (typical absurd dream “logic” I would imagine). I spend considerable time trying to make the music in my mind fit into my task of making sure the corner is properly designated as a possible hazard. Meanwhile, the Russian male seems aggravated about the incompleteness of the area in general. I decide to leave and come back in a short time from another way. Perhaps this will help me understand the precise angle in which the saw horse should proclaim the “dead end” at the open intersection. Absurd…