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Morning of March 24, 2014. Monday.



My wife and family are living in a large two-storey house which is supposedly in Brisbane, Australia yet looks like a variation of sister Marilyn’s house, though a lot bigger. The first part of my dream has a section of near-lucidity as does a section near the ending, but never full lucidity.

I hear a noise outside and look out from the (implied) north side of a room upstairs. As I look down, I see an unkempt man seemingly moving from the outer area of that side of our house - (he looks up with a slightly annoyed look at me; it is quite clear) - to then step through a window in the next house, which is fairly close to ours. The other house seems to be vacant and refurbishing seems to be a thought relative to the scene. I still am not quite sure why he came from our area. A little later, I look out again and see a different unkempt man coming from the same area as the previous. He, as well (after glancing up at me in a perturbed way), steps through the large window of the house next door. It is a very clear scene, but I cannot identify the two males.

My wife tells me that they are using the area inside our walls to gain access to the neighbor’s house due to the closeness of the buildings which seems to sound reasonable at first. It seems that the two men are yelling at each other and I make a note of this to my wife. The fight seems to last a few minutes and seems related to building supplies and who does what with what. A little later, I notice that the entire southern section of the other house is mostly gone so that the inside can be seen. It also creates some sort of distorted imagery that our house is directly connected to it, sort of like a courtyard being in the “opening” of the house that links to ours, yet with a fancy wall of only a couple feet or so and almost looking like a miniature castle at one point.

Later, I am upstairs in a room of my own that seems to be a section from the King Street boarding house. Three men are now in our house doing work for the landlord in the western-most section. A man yells at me “we weren’t arguing, mate…” (followed by something I do not hear clearly or remember) in an Australian manner and thick accent. I am not quite sure how he heard what I had said to my wife.

Later, I notice that the walls of vertical wooden slats (reminding me of our Clayfield apartment) have been recently painted. However, I also am aware that they did not need painting and whoever did it did an amazingly sloppy job, leaving triangular patches of the older coat near ceiling level, which looks very annoying. There are also tacky pieces of furniture added here and there and one room has horrid-looking wall paper, which is green and orange in vertical stripes and has upside-down V-shaped golden patterns. I tell myself that I will redo everything when the other men leave.

Feeling more and more annoyed, especially at the idea of having three strangers in our house supposedly “fixing” the place while merely destroying aspects of it in one way or another, I go to the room the three men are in. The three men are sitting about on the floor, all in informal meditating positions. The one on my far left, at first, looks like Richard B, a second pinhead (after Leonard S) I knew from La Crosse (who would be very old now if still alive). I say the first name fairly loud a few times, but it turns out that it is not him, and a different name is given by a different man (which I do not recall, it might have been “Paul”). He still closely resembles him and does have the same characteristics. He has an extreme slouch as well. I tell them that I will inform the landlord if they keep messing around as they have been doing. A little later, I am back in the adjoining room. Suddenly, I feel vibrations that are amazingly vivid to what it would actually feel like when a wall is transmitting sound caused by someone jumping on the floor. In the other room, the three men are jumping around, singing and yelling, and eventually playing a loud stereo. Their voices are very clear and distinguishable.

My wife gets very upset by both their being in the house at all, as well as their present behavior. It looks as if they had knocked a wall out from one side (west) for no particular reason. They mostly just sing and dance around in a drunken manner. She yells about them and goes downstairs with the apparent plan of not going upstairs again until they are gone (assuming there will still be an upstairs left). Our children seem to feel the same way. Our baby, however, is still wandering around upstairs. There are two large flights of stairs going up from north to the south end and fairly close together (divided only by one smaller room or area, it seems). I am concerned about the baby walking too close to the steps. She actually goes down a couple of the steps as I start to wake with great concern for her safety, but there is no drama. (In real life, she is the most adventurous one-year-old I had ever seen, even managing to climb up on our dresser and do a “tap dance” - as well as walk along the back of the couch.)

This dream seems to have some sort of unusual modern alteration of the “three witches” archetype.

Night of March 21, 2014. Friday.



There has been quite a bit of rain and the backyard is somewhat marshy. There is an odd “painting-like” feel to the dream as I have often experienced in the past, but it is still quite vivid and realistic in other ways.

I notice three unknown girls in near-transparent white gowns (with a very light salmon-colored “glow” or “air”) and wearing laurels of small flowers. Oh wait, I must be in a dream. Once I think on this, I go back and see three large flamingos pecking about near the old tree near the back fence (the one that was sawed through in real life before we moved here, leaving only the bottom part, and is exactly at fence level as such and looks quite ridiculous and a bit surreal at that). The girls are gone. Then I think, well the girls are gone, and there are only flamingos…therefore I must be awake…well DUH! Can you believe the stupidity here? We have never had flamingos in our yard. White ibises with black heads, yes, but not pink flamingos strutting about the place.

It seems logical that this is reality. I walk over to them but they fly off. Well, now I cannot take a photo - I think I will be able to make a lot of money by sending photos to the Audubon Society from now on (or as long as the flamingos stay in the region). Later on, I see them walking about when looking through the kitchen window, but there seems to be many more at one point. I catch a glimpse of a young man through the spaces in the fence slats near the driveway opposite our house to the south - who appears to be looking into our backyard. Well, how rude.

I begin to open the door and a smaller hand comes around through the partly open door and it has painted red nails. This startles me at first and “looks like trouble”. What is odd is that the door opens on the left side instead of the right, but this does not seem to be any indication that things are not quite right, either. The girl looks remarkable (“quivering” silver eyes), breathing deeply and quite loudly, but I have no clue where she came from. “I’m hungry,” she complains as if it were perfectly normal to say such to a stranger and expect food. Not knowing what else to do, I open the refrigerator. All there is, is eggs; different sizes, different colors. Everywhere. Nothing else. I am not sure what to make of it - perhaps I need to go shopping later.

At any rate, no one is around anymore. I look out the back and the flamingos are dancing about in a somewhat ungraceful manner. (This reminds me of the dream when my wife was somehow a large white egret at one point in some sort of anthropomorphic bird ritual, but that dream was more involving.)

Then it dawns on me. Tommy Roe is our new neighbor, so all the “pretty flamingos” come over the fence and steal…I do not know what exactly, as there is not really food lying about in the yard. The album I had in my youth had “Wild Thing” listed just prior to “Pretty Flamingo” (oddly, there is no reference on Wikipedia to this). So…we have a wereflamingo problem, but I do not seem to mind. However, considering “Roe”, I remember that roe is actually fish eggs and reconsider if the eggs in the refrigerator are somehow fish eggs rather than various types of bird eggs.

“Roe!”…I absentmindedly shout…“like pollywog eggs!”

A disembodied elderly female Russian voice says “Such a face dushka you are a clown!”

This means two things. Firstly, it means the scriptwriters for “The Other” could not speak Russian as “dushka” supposedly is only used for young women (or big guns - take your pick) as a term of endearment. Secondly, I saw “The Other” one too many times…and it did not even have flamingos in it.

Morning March 15, 2014. Saturday.



Sometimes when more precise dream scripting meanders and fails while in the dream state, yet still holds the residual patterns in part, the result can be ridiculous and ironic.

As I have stated before, I do not normally include scripted dreams, as that would be unfair, only ones built with generic affirmations such as “I am the continuity of maximum well-being”, though real-time thought and direct belief and expectation (without a specific phrase) is the most powerful and viable way of shaping a dream.

In this case, twelve multicolored butterflies eventually encircled the area (horizontally) so swiftly that they created a clear impression of a helicopter rotor - in fact, a subtle sound of a rotor was vaguely discernible later on during a transitional period. In such a case it is the dreamer making the dream rather than the dream making the dream self.

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At the beginning of my dream, I am working at the Ford Taurus-based factory as I had in reality years ago. The area seems to be the upstairs lunchroom though seems on the first floor in my dream. Awards are being given out based on service to the company. I am mostly on my own at one picnic table, but there are several other people in the room. Apparently I am in waste management and garbage disposal of some sort and there is a speech of appreciation for my service and how I have been rewarded with a new trash compactor for upcoming usage in my service to the company. (In reality, this is the compactor that exists on the southern end of the building - much scrap went out every day - probably as much as three cars or more in volume - though I never worked in any position relative to that.)

I am given an award in the same manner as a few other people. The trophy award looks like a horse’s saddle stirrup but larger and bent at somewhat of an L-shape, and is somehow pulled from the corner of the wall. It is an allover shiny silver. I hold it but do not comment or speak much.

Later on, people are standing and I think a few more people come in, but then it is more like a class reunion of some kind. I leave the area with a male coworker, as it is seemingly a ten-minute break period. I ask him about who the people are but I do not recall any responses. I ride a black motorcycle through an area that I take to be the entrance to the special location, the Enchanted Forest, which I have often dreamt of in the past, and I ride in at the familiar angle from the original road (about twenty degrees). There seems to be a dirt road at first, which I follow for a time, but then I just steer through various dense areas of the forest. It is very vivid and enjoyable.

The coworker is still with me (probably having been on the back of the motorcycle, as I remember someone else yelling in enjoyment, with a few more stressful yells regarding near misses with trees). I am near some outcrops of rocks and unusually narrow mound-like areas about six feet up, which are climbable. I soon have to use the bathroom. (It is rare for me to need to use the bathroom in a dream if I do not have to go in reality at the time). I get the idea to actually do this from the edge of a ledge whereby there is a small ravine across from a much higher hill (about double the height to where I am) with a ledge of about the same distance up and an even denser forest on the opposite side on the hilltop. I look down and it is like looking into a narrow area between two walls about four feet apart, with some shrubbery, but which arcs out in both directions towards the mound I am standing on.

Just as I start to get ready, I look around and down and notice a large white gorilla has entered the area. I am rather concerned, because, although I really do not want to hurt the ape, I really need to go to the bathroom and do not want an audience. I take out a rifle and notice the coworker is out of reach of the gorilla on a lower narrow outcrop of the mound, but the gorilla does not really seem threatening. The coworker tells me to shoot it in the head. I shoot it in the chest a few times, as well as the forehead and it goes down. However, a short time later, before I am able to relieve myself, it slowly gets up again, opening its eyes and calmly standing up and walking to the other side of the mound.

I am very annoyed. Can a man go to the bathroom in peace? My rifle changes into a sort of simplified machine gun (this morphing as a result of very vague lucidity at this point) and I start shooting at it again, over and over. The noise is not very loud, though, at least at first, but gets a bit louder prior to waking (and it also sounds more like a helicopter rotor). The white gorilla just stands there looking puzzled, not even annoyed or injured in any way. The bullets are so numerous, the area in the air eventually forms a solid but transparent and cylindrical ice-like horizontal waterfall-like effect from me to the gorilla. It creates the impression that I am sending small probes at the creature that apparently either have some sort of healing effect and are otherwise inconsequential. Not once does the gorilla seem angry or threatening in any way. So here I am, shooting and shooting and being inherently ridiculous. So much for a goddess-like indestructible “girl-illa” in a “white gown” in the Enchanted Forest. The white gorilla was a form of the goddess that I did not, for whatever reason, coherently manifest within the dream state. The gun in this case was still (partly as it was scripted, though not as a gun) a transference of energy rather than one of killing, confirmed by the small rapidly moving (and spinning while moving) transparent cylinders.

Morning of February 16, 2014. Sunday.



One dream was a variation of the last shorter one (“What comes next?” - not posted to all sites) though there was not much to it (and no phrase about a “Ninja village”). Although it was the same basic plot, it had a different focus of trying to look beyond the lighter squarish wooden bars of a crib or larger cot as they call them more often here; not sure of the exact size of the cot, but the dream repeated with more distortion and a different sized set of wooden crib bars, it seems (unless my view was farther away in the second version - not sure) - creating the optical illusion of seeing one environment (with writing) and then seeing a different environment (with different writing). I get a memory or realization of those cards of animals in cages whereby you slide the card a bit within the cardboard “frame”/“cage” and it becomes a different animal. (In reality, each aspect of each animal is in equally-sized vertical alternating strips across the card, so that one is fully hidden by having all of that set of strips hidden - technically this would work with phrases as well, even a full paragraph, with a different letter, or column of letters, in each set of alternating strips).

The main longer dream has a lot of mixed-up aspects. It is somewhat disjointed and going from completely different concerns. The first main part involves a matchbook cover album; that is, a book with plastic liners whereby you collect and store various interesting matchbook covers, which is similar to one I had as a younger teenager. I am with my family and we are living back on Barolin Street. The images are not like typical matchbook covers, though. One has a child seemingly ready to climb a ladder. I think there are a few (unknown) actors, some of 1940s cars, and so on. Mainly there is concern about which ones should be on which page, for example, how to organize by similar themes, subjects, or location source.

Later on, there is a loud party south of us, about three houses down. The area is different than in real life. It is apparently a biker party, but not that many people are there. I am on the front porch but it is much more open than in real life and the yard is much bigger. There are at least two bikers riding around with flaming torches. I am uncomfortably aware that these bikers, from something I had seen fairly often on the news (false memory) have a tradition of going around setting things in people’s yards on fire. This makes no sense at all, as we have at least four larger items in the yard made of wood and which at least two, I think, are bookcases full of books. There are also a lot of educational documents and the many drawings and comics my two oldest children have done (of which there are several volumes as in real life). There are also boxes of various flammable items I am concerned about. I do not think they will burn things on the porch. Somehow, I am able to move the important things into the house before they burn up. I seem to be running out of room in the house, but there is just enough space to get through the doorway to the porch. I ask them to please not do what they are doing and note how important some of the items are. Of course, that does not work.

I somehow end up with a large sword and end up killing both of them with little effort by running it through their chests. After a short time, my wife and I slide the remains behind the wall and the back of the couch on the porch along the southern wall. (This couch was on my sister’s porch in this same way, not ours). At that point, the remains are not much larger than a couple of ventriloquist dummies and almost seem like it due to their lightness and “floppiness”. Another man comes looking for them, I assume. I draw the sword across his throat and store his remains in a small cardboard box.

Soon, a very large man shows up with three others. “Well, you’re very brave,” he says when I stand my ground. I notice that he seems to be a bit too large and tall to be human and is very chubby. He transforms into a more octopus-like version of Cthulhu. Longer grayish tentacles come from his shoulders and upper stomach and other areas. I am not impressed at all for some reason, although it does take three attempts to kill him. At first I run the sword through his large, thick stomach which does not seem to hurt him enough to kill him. Then I run it through his chest. It feels very realistic. I can feel the vivid resistance and motions of the act. There is even an awareness of the feeling of the sword moving near ribs and into the heart area. The Cthulhu/biker looks extraordinarily surprised and I finish him off with the sword across his throat. The other men look somewhat afraid now that their leader is gone (while standing in a seemingly “convenient” triangular formation at my front) and I quickly kill all three. Two through the chest and one across the throat. There are no more to have to deal with.

I go back to the house. A short time later, I see my brother-in-law across the street from the front porch (he has never been to Australia). This is a very vivid awareness with very clear imagery. I wave to him to get his attention. He is with an unknown female, seemingly a younger relative of his whom I had never met. They had gotten off a bus, I think. When he comes into the doorway I sort of hug him and tell him I am glad to see him. He seems a bit bigger and taller than in real life but not really imposing. They both sit down on a couch on the other side of the porch opposite from where we had put the “biker remains”. There are two ambiguous main ideas - that they are there because they have no money or place to go - or - they are there due to having come into a lot of money and want to give it to us. He sits on the woman’s right (my left from the viewpoint).

In a short time, however, when I talk to him again, there is a different and younger male sitting in the same spot. This may be another relative of his. I am not sure where he came from or where my brother-in-law went - perhaps the kitchen or bathroom. I am apologizing for the chaotic state of things (with the boxes and furniture I had moved during the biker events). My youngest son somehow climbs up on top of a display case/shelf, somewhat like a wardrobe, with an open glass door and falls, hurting himself. Oddly, the muscle in the back of his upper arm is suddenly about four times the size it should be. My wife mentions getting ice for it, but I think he should get to the hospital. Again I am frustrated over the chaos that is still ensuing. I am so annoyed that I merely “push myself out of the dream” even though I was not lucid in any way.

In meaning, my sister had died recently, so her husband (still alive in reality) came to see me. It was at the Barolin Street house possibly because the porches (his and mine) were similar - though our present house has a more open porch as mixed-up with the last home in the dream. The bikers may be based on the fact that a brother, the last one still presently alive on my mother’s side, was a biker. He also liked playing with fire by spraying lighter fuel from his mouth onto a burning torch. There were times we had bookshelves and boxes of books on the lawn where I had minor concern about an unlikely sudden downpour, but only on days during packing and moving. Cthulhu may be yet another play on pachydermophobia, similar to the vacuum cleaner from another dream, as an octopus tentacle is somewhat reminiscent of an elephant’s trunk. However, there was no fear in this scene even though I was not lucid. The matchbook cover album foreshadowed the scene with the bikers randomly setting things on fire - relative to “where” the matchbook covers/fires should really be.

Morning of January 25, 2014. Saturday.



This is a bit unusual and has yet another celebrity, in this case, one that has not really crossed my mind in years. I am in Cubitis yet it also has features of our Wavell Heights home in Brisbane. The Carpenters are visiting. Karen Carpenter is on the floor to my left in somewhat of an informal meditation position. My second-youngest son is in an arm chair to my right and I am sitting between them on a chair similar to my real-life computer desk chair. Richard Carpenter is on the far side of the room to my right, near the windows. Other members of my family are in the house and I think two others in the same room.

I am working on some sort of machine that is apparently a sort of Etch-a-Sketch (slightly smaller, I think) but like a real-life VST or iPad variation or a special iPad with VST ROM (I have no interest in iPads). Over time, it shows a sort of implied concentric figure eight set, but offset or diagonal (to the upper right), but eventually it is seemingly made of a continuous spiral at one point that turns back at each arc somewhat like a maze of one continuous wider line to make the seeming number eight, but of which is slightly squarish.

My son is working on building a computer, it seems, and he gives Karen a CPU. Later, she hands it (or a different one) back to him and I am very annoyed that she almost scratches me with it. Plus, I am irritated that it was passed over me from the floor as I am trying to work at something. I express my anger at her and she gets up immediately and they both (her and Richard, who is 67 but very young in my dream) leave via the front door. I am thinking that it is probably not a good idea to make celebrities angry (which does not really make any sense, as I do not really care what people believe, especially celebrities, who often use their status to promote nonsensical ideas).

In a very short time, Karen comes back in and apologizes to me (or it is more like the scene suddenly jumps to this point with only a vague awareness of her coming back in through the front door), standing on my left. By that time, the “Etch-a-Sketch” VST/music device is making somewhat of a continuous annoying sound that sounds a bit like “grup grup grup” in the voice of a younger female. It could be either “grump” or “grub”, I suppose. It is so loud and annoying and probably not useful for a music track, it wakes me up and I feel a bit overheated.

This seems mostly based on being meticulous in my second-youngest-son’s eating habits, where I would like him to eat a greater variety of foods as he is a very fussy preference-oriented eater. The CPU is a play on “chip”, chicken chips being what he always wants to eat when everyone else is having something else - although he does eat other foods during these times. Karen died of anorexia nervosa which I see as not getting enough protein (or food in general, which is not really a problem for us in real life) but she also apologized for some reason (probably for handing him another “chip” when he could be “eating” - or “working with” something else). The grump/grub play probably means that I am being grumpy (or too meticulous) about his eating habits, as he is healthy otherwise.

Morning of January 25, 2014. Saturday.



All of the information the government has been keeping on various people as well as other information (in the United States for the most part) about the government itself and its stealthy activities as well somehow accidentally ends up in full in various sources including the Internet, magazines, and generic newspaper advertisements. This is based only on one or two errors made by government, I think. I get an impression of being back in seventh grade at one point.

In my dream, I had carried a snub-nosed revolver everywhere (including in middle school). There is a point where, even though I am at the entrance to the middle school, there are a lot of people walking about, mostly older women, as if it was a shopping mall. I tell them about the disclosure that is occurring. I decide it is best to avoid people during the time they are learning the truth about their government - things which I apparently knew all my life. Somehow, I eventually have a flintlock pistol which is only a type of large cap gun or replica (with the barrel completely evenly sealed over in the front with black metal or plastic painted a metallic black). It is some sort of composite real-life memory of a real matte-black snub-nosed revolver, a silver six shooter revolver (I used mostly blanks in it and eventually ruined it - I think the blank caliber was too big or simply unsuitable or perhaps too cheap) and a flintlock cap pistol I had when younger. I am aware that the simulated “wooden” handle of the flintlock is actually only plastic and have a vague lucidity that I want it to be real wood as if I could force other people to see it as real wood (even though I am not fully lucid - otherwise I would just will it to become real wood). I am also trying to present it as a real gun on a special day when everyone is allowed to bring his firearms to school (including rifles) so that people can share information. It is fairly large for a flintlock and the teacher, thinking it is real, enjoys the balance and weight of it.

My sister Marilyn is in my dream, talking about the riddles and short jokes, one each on the back of a cap, which appears in the form of a large sheet (like postage stamps) rather than a roll, so that they have to be torn off to use individually. She is saying how she does not understand any of the jokes or riddles and gives a few examples (which I cannot quite remember). I make fun of them as well and tell two supposed riddles, but by example (in my dream) only. I say, “why is a cat like a match” with the answer being “they both scratch” (which is not really funny to me) and “why did the cat not use the match” with the answer being “because it’s a cat” (which makes even less sense). My sister seems fairly healthy and alert in my dream.

I am playing around with the large cap pistol flintlock by stacking about four or five caps directly under the hammer with a few attached to the ones in the stack. When I pull the trigger, the whole top of the gun catches on fire, partly caused by some burning of the additional caps partly hanging down the side, but I blow it out fairly easily. It seems amusing and I realize no stack of caps would be high enough to really do much.

Morning of January 20, 2014. Monday.



I consider this dream somewhat precognitive, as I checked and found an enhanced version of the table of wavelengths I had been using until now which goes much higher and is far more viable to what I am presently working on (without needing a calculator).

This dream is primarily physical/sensual, so there is not much else regarding plot. However, it seemed to last for at least an hour or more. It is basically like a climax that stretches out over nearly an hour, but at a different level.

The main aspect is that my wife is touching me intimately and there are two specific frequencies that are reaching me in a “perfect” way. They have nothing to do with an actual reason of any kind, but relate oddly to some recent work I was doing in sound manipulation.

I am aware of the main frequency reaching me through a certain area, which turns out to be 7,902.132 Hz. The other is 987.767 Hz. There is no logical reason for this, it just turns out that way in my dream. Both represent a “B” note. (Fifth and eighth octaves under the C = 16.351 Hz = 0 octave table).

Again, there is no logical reasoning to this other than being relative to the expansion of waveforms I had been doing which involves a special “trick” of polar inversion (mutual silence - which is sort of like how the higher dimensions work) and then opening up expansion points to solely bring out intended ranges in the waveform, which can be used to isolate frequency bands or particular instrument nuances (even a single guitar string in a chord if you are so inclined) in a recording or “remake” something in a different tonal range to fit another recording. All in all, this was a very blissful experience.

Morning of January 15, 2014. Wednesday.



Even though this was a natural disaster dream, there were strong feelings of joy and unconditional love in some parts (even though I was not lucid - but it was still extraordinarily vivid). Most of this night and morning was filled with typical over-the-top sensual dreams, but I will try to focus on this a bit more with its more complex and longer scenario.

This is a fairly typical tidal wave dream (other than the additional joyful states) - I have had tidal wave dreams of this nature all my life; my dreams have not changed much in some ways since earliest childhood. I have been able to trace the majority of influences and associations in fairly precise ways. I often dream about tidal waves prior to a heavier rain (in this case there were actually three shorter heavier rains before my wife got home), usually before there are signs of rain, as was the case here - in this case, in real life, my wife had gone out with the baby not expecting a heavier rain.

Even though I have not lived in the USA for about twenty years, the setting is the street I lived when I went to college in two different time periods (King Street boarding house) and quite clear and mostly accurate with only a few incongruous features of other locations. However, it is supposedly in Brisbane, Australia, yet mostly only including the familiar characters from that time period in the USA (some deceased for over twenty years) and only a couple actual Australian characters mixed in.

My dream begins to unfold with my awareness of being downstairs with the owners for some reason, perhaps to do some painting or maintenance for them as they watch television. Over time, I notice that water is rising on the street. It is just coming up to the level of the house. A man of about forty is out in shorts and a t-shirt and bare feet and mowing his lawn in the rising flood and light rain. He actually almost falls down when going over a mud-hole that has formed on the boulevard.

I point out the rising flood waters, but it does not seem that consequential. At first it is thought that a water-main broke somewhere. For a short time, I think about their possessions getting damaged, especially books and documents, but the water remains at near floor level. Still, as I have the upstairs apartment, I am not that concerned about my own belongings.

The first tidal wave (from directly west) hits without too much damage. There is a thought that it does not really matter, as I do not own much (in my dream) and I can just live somewhere else. I look around at the rising water on the street. There is only a small level of water inside the house. I have thoughts, while standing on the porch watching the weather, on paying a year’s rent all at once, something I had actually considered in real life over the past few years due to property owners’ disinterest in families and even local residents and present overwhelming nuisance backpacker trend and ridiculously overcrowded illegal hostels all over this region including next-door to us.

There is a scene where I look up and a couple children are playing near the opening in the high ceiling that normally goes to the attic (which is actually the “same” as the one in our present home near our bed) which now seems more like living quarters. There is no retracting ladder, just the trapdoor with a smaller square opening that a person can barely fit through (needing to stand on a wardrobe for example). A girl of about three in a white formal dress is playing peekaboo, but obviously it is not a good idea. Soon, she leans too far over the opening and falls through just as I am expecting. She hits the floor rather hard, head first, but instead of breaking her neck - is not hurt in even the slightest way but I still inform the mother, who has her lie on the couch. I get the impression that I mentally did something to prevent her from being hurt in any way (yet am still not lucid).

The mother goes outside and east down King Street, which does not seem like a good idea due to the albeit low flooding, but she has to get something from a relative, it seems. There are also the typical idiots that speed through the flood waters in their cars, a couple getting stuck, as I have seen in real life.

I notice a second huge tidal wave coming from the west (throughout my life they mostly come from this direction - possibly the west being the past or left as on a compass rose and concerns with aging or the past “catching up” in aging - also possibly encroaching Western ideas or “Western mainstream” intrusions), towering over the early afternoon skyline. The tidal wave hits and I watch it with a sense of bliss and love and even positive expectation, greatly enjoying the sounds of the rushing waters - with no discernible sense of fear. However, it does a bit of damage to some of the residential structures in the streets and I feel the weight of the water hitting the building. Looking east, I also see that the woman is drowning and half-submerged in deeper water in the middle of the street. I run to rescue her from drowning and carry her back to the boarding house. She is very light to carry and I quickly make my way back. She is very grateful but only semi-conscious and complaining of her breasts being in pain, as she needs to give milk to the baby in the house. At this point, it seems to be a version of my wife but much younger.

Soon, I am upstairs, but it is more like a different version of the downstairs area. Three men are talking, two being the most vocal. One taller man - the only one standing - is going on and on about “being spiritual” and preaching nonsensical and highly unrealistic ideology - he reminds me very vaguely of Paul Hogan but is not him in any way. I hear the word “spirit” several times with the idea that he knows about the other man’s spirit which seems to make no sense, as they only just met (as the annoying man randomly took refuge in our house). One of them (the one being vocally victimized) is involved in search and rescue work as well as providing services to feed poverty-stricken areas. The man talking about morality and being spiritual seems delusional in most of what he is saying and the others are getting annoyed. This is not typical, as usually generic spirituality is shown in a positive light. Here, however, it seems like the person is severely mentally ill and nothing but an unwelcome nuisance. He claims the other man’s spirit will suffer because he had rescued people instead of just letting them die - apparently he believes that when you rescue someone you give them part of your spirit, which subtracts from your morality and life’s purpose - this relates to both his rescue work and providing food for starving children. Again, I am not lucid, but a third tidal wave is approaching as I listen to this annoying purposeless preaching character - his speech seeming more and more chopped, truncated, and even completely unrelated to actual human existence.

I think about posting a status update on Facebook such as “here comes the third tidal wave” and how I will likely be homeless and how most of the town will be destroyed, but am still not concerned. I am actually cheerful. I blissfully listen to the massive tidal wave that is so huge, it takes considerable time for the top of the wave and the full strength to finally come down in the area. I watch the base of it in the same position for quite some time (almost as if the shape is frozen in time yet with the water itself fully energized and flowing), again enjoying the sounds of the rushing waters. Finally, it hits, and I ecstatically feel the entire large house move off and move easterly like a boat. However, the annoying male yells “oh sh–!” as it crashes into another house at about a forty-five degree turn when it moves across the intersection and kitty-corner from where it hits (although I am not certain if he is killed, but the two other men look on and simply smile at him, possibly out of pity, as he gawks out the window at the other approaching house’s window - and it almost seems as if this “preacher” is being forced to look through the window of another human being’s house as if it is something he can’t realistically see or understand otherwise). I woke up feeling rather energized and joyful.

Morning of January 14, 2014. Tuesday.



A part of the first dream was quite specifically precognitive (of the type which I have always welcomed compared to the day to day trivial visual type). Needless to say, both my wife and myself almost hurt ourselves laughing when the details became known.

In my dream, there is a visit by a prince of a small town. It seems unusual in that the prince is from another close region and representing modern Western culture (rather than being a typical politician, for example). He goes around making speeches but not many people continue to listen as they start to suspect he has some sort of mental issues. Still, for some reason, I and a few others follow his misadventures out of a choice to “protect the village idiot

This is a very long dream, but I will not get into some of the details other than a few here. Somehow, there is an old Greek building which is apparently a political building that was destroyed by recent war (perhaps it is the future). The "prince” gets up onto a broken Greek column (which is a few feet up from the ground) and uses it as a “throne” even though there are a few sharp bits sticking up which he complains about. He speaks, “Whoever after due and proper warning shall be heard to utter the abominable word ‘Briz-bane’, which has no linguistic or other warrant, shall be deemed guilty of a High Misdemeanor”. He then goes on to say how he is not satisfied with the “county seat” (which is not really a term used in Australia). I am reminded of something I had read ages ago and realize that this “prince” must be a direct (fictional; in dream only) descendant of Emperor Norton.

Over time, it seems he actually transforms into his ancestor, Emperor Norton, but the majority of people ignore his speeches (until later on). He mostly claims how “everything” (in Australia) is his and that every building in the country represents “his grocery store” and every person is his grocer. He has arguments with a few people but does not seem remotely discouraged or even aware that they are complaining or running from him. He goes to a movie theater proclaiming it to be a grocery store and gives a speech as to the importance of movie theaters actually being grocery stores and again, how “every man is my grocer”. “I know all of you very well,” he says (even though he seems to know nothing about anyone), “each and every one of you is my grocer." Soon, he seems to be on a quest for the best pumpkin pie. He goes into a woman’s clothing store and sees women undressing, proclaiming it to be the "most obvious grocery store” in the region. “Because it has the most bread,” he says (which I do not quite get - perhaps he meant “breast”.)

Near the last part, he is giving a speech in a more isolated area. “Even this isolated meadow is my grocery store,” he proclaims, “and all of you are my grocers…the fact that you are here now is proof that you are here to be my grocers…”

Suddenly, a pack of wild dogs (mostly larger brown ones), running about in a rather chaotic way otherwise, and nipping at each other’s faces, is headed straight for him. He has no awareness of the danger. Five are headed directly at him as they pass me. Becoming slightly semi-lucid, I merely wave my arms and they suddenly cringe, look confused, and turn around to go back in the direction they came from. I notice that the area is near an arc-shaped gravel road but does not immediately remind me of any real-life location - especially as it seems to just be an isolated arc-shaped gravel road in the middle of nowhere with no other discernible signs of human habitation (this relates to the “C” of Cowsills, as well as possibly my first name, but is a bit too complex to get into here). For some reason, this scene with the dogs strikes me as being particularly hilarious - not even sure why. I guess it is the overall comedic mood of a pack of dogs jumping about and running to go after someone and then suddenly turning tail and going back the other way and checking back a couple times to see if I am still there.

After this, I see someone in town near a row of commercial buildings who comes out from an alleyway. He is Greg R, a supposed cocaine addict I knew from work on Copeland Avenue and have not seen at all in years. “Man, that prince sure f-ed my town up,” he says at the mostly empty streets. I could not care less at this point. I am sitting on the sidewalk with my legs out, leaned up against a building somewhat. Somehow I become semi-lucid enough to be aware that my wife is close by and coming to see me. She comes and sits on me and we start making out in public (although there are not that many people on the streets by this point).

Morning of January 12, 2014. Sunday.

Actual image that came up first in accidental image search after this dream (had never seen it before):



I am in a fairly correct dream rendering of the small hallway near the back door and near the bathroom of where we live. It seems to be in early afternoon. Looking out after opening the back door, near the garage, I see what I believe to be a larger bobcat. There is no sense of immediate danger, but I am still a bit wary and inform members of my family. I close the door for a short time, with a vague thought of claws coming from under the door and almost reaching my legs (likely based on a real-life event as a teen where a pet hybrid bobcat violently attacked my leg due to having a scent of another animal on me - I actually stayed in the bathroom with the door closed until my parents got home).

I look out again later, and the bobcat is still sitting there. However, I am distracted by a dark-haired girl walking through the gate, which seems to have been left open. She has no arms (likely a representation of Venus or Aphrodite, relating to the armless statue). I then see that the “bobcat” was only a young domestic grayish tabby cat. This cat seems to belong to her but got away from her recently. She smiles and uses telekinesis to lift the cat into the air and onto her shoulder before leaving our backyard through the side gate of the west fence.

After this, I get a secondary dream (in a different environment but seemingly still in our house somewhere on one level) of a man that seems to represent modern mainstream society - the average person or “normal” human - which I usually go out of my way to avoid. He is a dark-haired man with a mustache and seems to be preparing to do “work” for other people regarding some sort of fraudulent self-help movement mixed in with misconstrued and supposed but fabricated aspects of Eastern religions (much as I have seen a lot of in real life especially since around 1991). I get a very brief but clear audio of what he is thinking, which is “I’m going to sit on a rug and pretend to know things!" It seems sort of comedic but also sad. I also get a vague impression that he is one of the "forty thieves” from “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves” and resembles the man in the photo I saw after the dream.

This reminds me of a brief scene from a variation of the recent “wayward equations” trend. I am on a flying carpet high in the air with Ian McKellen (much as he appeared in “The Keep” but somehow only around twenty here) and the otherwise beautiful blue sky (with a few white clouds here and there) becomes “dulled down” with somewhat complex but boring art. It is mostly of irritating concentric squares of various boring pale colors (of pale pinks, yellows, and light greens) set out before us. We are both standing with our hands folded in front of us at near belly button level. “Is this Heaven?” I say absentmindedly. “I hope not,” says Ian, “I saw enough of this infuriating pastel Hippie art in Nimbin…”

This first dream was partially linked to the usual day to day (often highly detailed or very unlikely otherwise) visual precognition that has seemed continuously at work since earliest memory (which many other people do not seem to have at all or at least do not talk about - or even believe in - something that has always astounded me and has strongly formed an impression of most of human society being “wrong” - unfortunately I could not help holding this persistent view from a very young age). After getting ready to post this, I accidentally (yes - accidentally) used Google image search instead of the web search solely to check the spelling of “telekinesis”.

The very first image that came up showed a male (though in the dream it was a female) lifting a cat (identical to the one from the dream) with (supposed, but fake and comical) telekinesis near shoulder-level. Nothing new, but often the matching is closer in detail. There have been times when I was able to do this consciously (in meditation) - still holding the theory it has something to do with higher “hidden” levels of fractal continuity that the subconscious somehow calculates and not necessarily paranormal.

As I have said before, this happens with the majority of dreams (depending on the type), but I usually do not include the details, as I feel it subtracts from the more personal nature of the dream itself - and just documenting the dream itself in some cases (with only minor commentary in certain cases) makes the great mystery a little more interesting and “unanswered” for the casual reader - although realistically, I still need to eventually document more personal information and symbolic associations, I suppose. Still, if you looked at an abstract painting, would you want to know exactly why each and every line met and what it represented or just enjoy the painting?

Morning of January 10, 2014. Friday.



I go into “another universe” somehow. This other universe has a planet like Earth, but it also seems as if I am back in time, as people are primarily cavemen. However, they are seemingly “civilized” cavemen for the most part - living in little houses all in a row in some areas. There is also a very small population of them, perhaps not even twenty on the entire planet, and all gathered in one warmer region (as they do not have fire or even seem to know what it is).

I meet and have long conversations with either the leader or the most intelligent of the cavemen. He is aware that I am different than everyone else but is not sure of my origin or where I am from for some time (and likely does not know by the end of my dream). We talk about a lot of things and I get the idea that he is learning a lot from me, which will eventually cause the population to be a bit larger - especially regarding survival skills which we also talk about. They seem to be mostly living on a small type of red berry that grows at the edge of the woods near their row of houses (which are in an open area). There is also a perfect line of peach trees across the front of the row of houses. These peach trees are lived in somehow by smaller baboons (there are more baboons than cavemen and some are walking about on the ground). I notice a lot of peaches on the ground, so neither the cavemen nor the baboons are eating them all. It is like a government housing district where all the little houses look so much the same, you would probably have difficulty finding your own house. It reminds me of an area in La Crosse called “the shoe homes” (actually Schuh Homes, I believe) for those lower income people - it would take a lot of extra effort just to find a certain house, as there are several streets with identical houses in all directions. I could imagine a drunk trying to find his way back to his house as even the street corners all looked the same.

I guess technically they are not cavemen - as they do not actually live in caves, but they have the look of the comedic stereotype for the most part. The man I talk to is only wearing a small dark animal fur around his groin area. Over time, he tries to understand more about where I am from - as he does seem educated in quantum physics, unusual theories, astronomy, and so on. I am almost not sure myself (I am not lucid in anyway, oddly enough, even though I seem to be aware I am “visiting them from my world/reality”). I tell him that I am from a different universe, then say a different time, implying both, but he is not sure of the dynamics of such a potential and it seems very difficult to explain in any way. I teach the cavemen how to make fire and how to hunt to some extent. Over time, I believe there is an apple orchard in one area, close to the row of houses. The baboons do not cause any trouble, but do seem a bit dirty and seem to render the peaches less edible or less abundant overall in some ways. I almost get the sense that the other man could learn to use a computer, but they do not really have any inventions yet - but somehow have the perfect little houses to live in, in the “middle of nowhere”.

Although my dream seemed to have peaches, there may also be a play on “apricot” as apricots have become a sparsely recurring aspect of my more recent dreams. It could be relative to a play on “ape-ricot”, not sure, but it seems a conscious comedic association.

Morning of January 8, 2014. Wednesday.



This is one of those “glowing” dreams (I use the name, as it reminds me of the song “Glow Worm” that my father used to perform, which also used the word “glimmer”) - a type of dream in which everything (even people) seems to be translucent and having light within as well as a viable sensation of bliss and pleasure (both physical and spiritual) - a sort of residual “glimmer” effect in consciousness even for about twenty minutes after waking. These dreams usually seem more multicolored (or of “wrong color”) than so-called ordinary dreams as well. I usually have at least one of these a week since earliest memory but they are often too detailed (or “epic”) or elusive to write about online.

There are two sections to this “glow dream” - the first section relates to being in an unfamiliar seafood restaurant after hours which has about five round tables in one area (although the chairs are not turned up over the tables as would likely be the case in real life if closed - or perhaps I am the janitor and have not completed my work yet). There is an oil painting in a fancy wider wooden frame on the wall, seemingly from the 1800s and of a lobster (recurring). I am trying to determine if it is holding carnations in its claws, as I am not fully lucid (but perhaps twenty-five percent aware). An unknown female is to my right, possibly a “higher entity” or self-reinvented tulpa, though her eyes are copper-colored (slightly shiny and “vibrating” like a “jumping mirror”) sometimes more towards scintillating orange, almost with an unusual revolving and morphing effect (this seems to be directly related to the “kaleidoscope eyes” effect that John Lennon wrote about in “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”). I become aware of a very complex (in terms of the weave) cloth that makes up her white dress, somewhat like a herringbone pattern but with implied alternating directions. There seems to be tiny silvery “flashes” in certain threads here and there, somewhat like the effect of fish scales in sunlight. “Lobster,” I say casually. “What does it mean?” I am speaking more to myself than anyone listening in. There is a sort of feminine giggle, which I realize is my wife - as related to a cassette tape of about twenty years ago (which I listened to again recently), which brings a very blissful sensation, body-wide.

After a time, I find myself in an area outdoors on a white sand beach, but near a jagged bluish-gray (almost metallic) boulder-based area to my right (when facing the ocean). It seems to be near an outdoor restaurant or resort, but the two larger rectangular tables are unlikely set out fairly far from any building and “too close” to the ocean, perhaps (compared to how it would be in real life). I see a very pleasing feminine form moving towards me. It has the “standard” glow dream property of showing several frames of movement at the same time, sort of like moving holographic images superimposed in a linear continuity. Each form seems to be wearing a different erotic outfit (some extremely complex and jewel or tassel-covered) until it stabilizes. It turns out to be a younger version of my wife in a hula skirt (and a lei) of all things, so I assume we are in Hawaii. “Lobsters,” I say, raising a glass I suddenly find in my hand. “Lobsters,” she affirms cheerfully. I focus on lobsters…

Soon, we get our “lobster”. However, it is not actually a lobster but a waist-high sort of dingy robot with hook hands held out horizontally in front of him (for some reason, I get fleeting impressions of a person in a wheelchair with this scene). I get a very strong impression that the robot is confused (but somehow fully human) and that the hook hands represent his status as being in “question mode” - the hook hands (darker/“dirty” silver) being just like question marks - which come out from a larger grayish “arm tube”. These thoughts and realizations last for quite some time, at least five minutes or more. The poor little robot meanders around. It approaches my wife and tries to touch or pull her golden and white lei (which matches her golden and white variegated hula skirt), but cannot come anywhere near reaching that high. It makes very odd baby gurgles and puppy yelping sounds, but with very metallic and hollow tones, reminding me vaguely of R2D2 from “Star Wars”. It continues to meander around and bump into tables (sometimes backing up and bumping into the same table several times as if malfunctioning). We laugh about its random and “confused” state.

I realize more fully that its intent is to express itself in a somewhat diluted “average human” way and it wants to write a revisionist history of me, its “target”. I feel no ill-will as such (though I sometimes do, depending on the environment and in-dream mood, but in this case, it is hard, if not impossible, to be annoyed while in a state of bliss), and even show it to a table and hand it a pencil from the drinking straw (red and white candy cane style with that “accordion-bellows” section for bending down) holder.

“Gack gack gack gack gack,” it writes neatly (but in all uppercase letters). “That’s nice!” I pat the robot on the head and it “barks” and “gurgles” out of seeming frustration of not writing what it intended. It continues to write “gack gack gack” over the page (it is holding the pencil with the hook hand and a thinner section that comes out from the bottom of the tube arm for grip and reminds me of an old-style metallic adjustable table lamp). Finally, it wiggles its arms and leaves the table and “barks” in more loud frustration. Soon, its head seems to be a small model observatory and a telescope comes out and moves about as if it is examining the sky. “It’s spacing out,” affirms my wife, followed by laughter. There are about six other people around, male and female. The robot staggers around - reminding me of a typical drunk in public in their usual discombobulated or drunken stupor that I see all the time on my street.

Finally, I am served lobster on a bed of lettuce. The poor little robot comes over and starts throwing an electrical tantrum, because the lobster is his “brother” (I make the main association with lobster claws and the robot’s hooked hands as well as the exoskeleton). He begins to emit thin smoke, somewhat like the smoke from a cigarette and “barks” and “growls”. Everyone laughs. “This robot thinks it is part of nature and is as far from nature or natural consciousness as something can be,” I say slowly, after about three or four practice attempts. The robot gets very “angry” and spins around, going too close to the rocky area, and falling over and crashing down into the less dense area of the boulders (with a few final somewhat disturbing truncated “barks” and “squeals”). There is a loud sputtering sound, somewhat like a sequence of cheap dud “puffy” caps from a cheap toy cap gun but louder, and a heavier smoke rises. “Nice going, _”. I call him by name, as I become more aware and recognize who he is (or symbolizes). I feel sort of sad that the robot has “died” in such a seemingly purposeless and careless manner and ponder what went wrong in its little robot path in life.

I sit down at the table. Oddly, a nuclear explosion occurs (to the right when looking out at the ocean) being a result of the robot remains (some sort of mechanical nucleus) exploding, but without effect other than causing us to be transparent and skeletal (as with an X-ray) for a very short time before returning to normal. Nothing seems damaged or even moved as we watch the mushroom cloud. “They call it a mushroom cloud…but I think it looks much more like cauliflower,” I say casually (with a brief flash of a lobster holding a small cauliflower head in each claw). One older female is standing in an elegant silvery dress (the only one standing at that point - everyone else is seated at the two tables). “Humans…” she says (ironically in regards to the robot), doing a single quick side-to-side head shake.

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I have added “precognitive” due to some interesting connections with a post that came shortly after mine as well as adding the “dream journal synchronicity” tag.

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Morning of January 8, 2014. Wednesday.



I am in a large building, somewhat like a composite between a residential house and a warehouse, but with library features. There are computers set up here and there near mostly corners.

There is a war going on to the north - which seems a bit “off” as it seems to imply two cultures setting off bombs and such in the same area of where each are otherwise living. It also seems a bit like a part of the north-side of La Crosse. I watch 1940s USA military aircraft fly overheard, dropping strange small doughnut-shaped explosives everywhere, even near their own men, but it is mostly the enemies that are killed. I even see a large loom very close to the building I am in, with about three bodies hanging from it and a couple on the ground. Somehow the loom was supposedly being used to make weapons (which makes little sense). The characters remind me a little of ones from a version of “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves”.

Now and then, there is a slight concern that the bombs will be “too close” to the building, but it is not that much of a worry - and some of the computers seem to be for targeting.

Eventually, a soldier comes in with Usama bin Laden (FBI-based spelling) aka “Osama” (supposedly deceased). In my dream, though, he has a long white beard, yet seems younger. He blows strange “raspberries” at me as a bored, obnoxious child would do. I go into a different room to get something for one of the soldiers and Osama throws four tiny (fictional) “hand grenades” directly at me that he had hidden in his loose garments, so small as to hardly notice the weight hitting me. The soldiers back up, because the explosives are supposedly the most powerful ever made (which means Osama is suicidal here, I guess). They are much like watch batteries (or possibly actually are watch batteries turned into miniature but powerful bombs) with a hole through the center and adhesive on one side (to stick to the clothes of the target, I guess, but not very feasible in the real world due to extremely small surface area), but I note they are also similar to the doughnut-shaped bombs that the airplanes were dropping only much smaller.

I am somewhat annoyed but just fling my arms around, making the “grenades” return to the sender, or rather near his feet. He looks a bit annoyed and surprised at the same time. There is one left on my left arm, which I also fling back. There are no explosions - apparently they only go off when remaining on the target for a certain amount of time (as I believe was the case with the airplane bombs - giving certain soldiers time to make a run for it). There does seem to be a bit of urgency for a short time, but no drama ensues. He is then taken away by the soldiers to be executed. (It is also possible that what he threw at me were I Ching coins, as he briefly seemed to have a Chinese appearance.)

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Night of January 7, 2014. Tuesday.



There are no stronger emotions here; it is mostly of a scenario which I am not actually “in”, although still with deeper depth-perception and within a realistic environment as if perhaps I am floating about in an invisible form. Mostly, it is in a park, on an elevated area, but still with other higher hills around - in late afternoon with a large group of people, many appearing to be wealthy elderly ladies drinking cocktails from regular glasses, but other types of people are about as well.

Mostly, there is the awareness of a trumpeting elephant but with time-stretched and “smeared” (in terms of audio) aspects, a sound I sometimes had in my mind as a child. It repeats a few times. There is no elephant to be seen, though. One of the older women says, “my enemy” regarding the unseen elephant, and this scene is repeated. The elephant’s trumpet seems very close to having the essence of an old-style air-raid siren (but “slowed down” in audio and subtle awareness).

A younger man (in his late twenties, perhaps) with two children on his right, all standing in a clearing of this park (some people prefer the areas with more trees, including the older women) - a younger daughter in a fancy black dress, almost like those you see in ballroom dancing, and her brother to her left (the father’s right side) around the same age in casual clothes. The man has a replica gun in his right hand pointing precisely vertically down at the top of the daughter’s head and she seems completely unaware of this (even though you would think she would feel the touch of it). He clicks it at least once, but it is not a cap gun, just a plastic replica, and it makes hardly any sound. The boy notices this and pretends to be shot himself and falls lightly but gets up immediately (the girl does not seem to notice or care about this, either). People seem almost to be waiting for the end of the world while standing around in this park, but many with a sort of party mentality.

The scene with the replica gun reminds me very vaguely of the final scenes from “The Mist” from 2007 (which has the real gun which is used to shoot his son so the monsters will not get him) but no one gets hurt here.

The elephant never shows up and the world and life goes on. Perhaps it was a practice run. Very uneventful but slightly eerie.

Morning of January 7, 2014. Tuesday.



Over the past twenty years, and more so, the past five or six years, I have become more and more “out of the loop” regarding what many people (primarily in mainstream society) are talking about, as if I was on an alien planet - sometimes I try, sometimes I do not - even if they resort to false ideology and clueless (invalid) revisionist history of their target (typical of Internet trolls, of course) - which means nothing, really, but which seems to be all people are capable of at times. This does not disrupt my real life, usually, though, but is an enigma I cannot quite solve. This is also why I do not usually respond to what I would personally call the utterly bizarre - and yet a need over facing the challenges in real life with my wife’s criminally insane mother caused me to go into an active mode for a time, but I have remained passive for the most part - simply because I can easily afford to be and do not have any concern at all of what someone else might think. My dreams are always “informing” me of where I should devote more time, though, as well as the ever ongoing enigmatic composite precognition. In a sense, even the “Pachydermophobiaphobia” dream was quite specific in things (which I did not go into in that particular entry - as my entries are long enough as is, usually). That related to, at one level, a group I belong to that tries to ease the worries of people who are always going on about an impending Doomsday although I am not an admin there and mostly leave it to others to explain things to people whereas I do my usual “jokes”; I mostly just watch in disbelief - rather “the Doomsday of the month” so to speak, and all the scam artists selling people false ideologies. For some reason, the people who believed in all the 2012 Doomsday nonsense are still worried about new and upcoming “Doomsday events” as if they had not learned a thing. So this dream, in part, was combining my old trauma regarding elephants with personal communications on that site with people who are worried about the oncoming (but never arriving) “elephant” - and of course, the trumpet relates to a sign of the Apocalypse.

This dream is fairly short. I see “Under the Dome” - a television ongoing series with more than one season (claimed falsely to be a miniseries by the promoters) written as “Under the Domb”, a play on “Under the Dumb” as I had already seen before. However, in this case, it is actually relating to a second season of what was apparently going to only be of only a few episodes as advertised. This brings back a slightly altered scenario from real-life (but actually only Internet-based) events. It was in regards to two things I saw written by real people on the same page, both of which bordered on almost scaring me with the implications (yes, this happens all the time, but seriously…). This combined loosely with people (adults) out there in the real world that do not actually know what either clouds or wind really are…

The first part related to an attempt to explain to the “real person” (rather than just via a forum) that the picture that was posted showing the positions of the planets and stars (from Earth) was a CGI representation and not meant to have been a detailed painting by a caveman or some such when they honestly asked “how can a picture be that old?” (this phrase actually stayed in my head for days after - it was so strange in its implications of general human ignorance). The other related to a lack of patience on my part when I could not take any more. In real life, I photographed one of my sons doing a science experiment (and I think I have written on this before, so forgive me) with the label of “why isn’t the ice melting?" I did this as a joke, with the answer being "because it is a photograph”. This is because the other person was looking at a person holding an ice sculpture and honestly asked “why isn’t the ice melting?" Being in education is not the reason things like that make my head hurt. It seems really "wrong” to me in ways I suppose others could not imagine.

The other two things I am reminded of before meteors come down and wipe out a camping ground were related to things I read in the newspaper years ago and something I read just recently. The first was one of those letters you read that leave one baffled. Apparently the person thought that water vapor clouds and smoke were exactly the same thing (which I hope I did not imply in writing about my black smoke dream). He actually said that if more people smoked cigarettes, it would rain more (in this region). The other person did not even know what wind was (and indicated such on the IMDb forum regarding the “Under the Dome” series - which again - I had almost forgotten about) and it had to be explained to him; for example hot and cold air meeting and such (which can even be experienced near a radiator to a subtle extent) - as something that does not have to be experienced solely in the great outdoors. At any rate, a cowboy appears and says “look what you’ve done” as the meteors fall with weird lightning (which I absentmindedly try to “catch” like a dropped lifeline a couple times) and wipe out the campgrounds and most of the people (directly related to the “Tonight the Sky Will Fall” theme - where a thinking/aware dreamer causes the end of all things and has to recreate the universe, but with him “playing dead” afterwards). There is the awareness of the Red Rider song “Lunatic Fringe” - one of my favorites by them. However, I see my wife’s glowing (luminous) white figure (like a shadow - but completely white instead) on the horizon, slightly enlarged by about twenty percent. We will be together again in a more enriching way in the “next manifestation of the universe”, it seems (unlike the ending to “Tonight the Sky Will Fall”). Sometimes I approach the wrong subjects at the wrong time out of pure disbelief - and such has been the case since early childhood.

Another “sign” was a movie my wife mentioned just recently in real life regarding a play on “lunatic fringe” - a movie called “The Fringe Dwellers” (which we did not watch) - although it had absolutely nothing to do with the “Chrysalids” theme popping back up again recently - except perhaps in a very subtle way. Without knowing it, my wife’s dream seemed to have the same location as my elephant dream I just recently posted (again, this happens a lot, but often goes unnoticed because it happens so much). “Domb” also seems to be a play on “bomb”.