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Morning of October 26, 2013. Saturday.



I am on a concrete footpath near a metal railing high over a river and across from where I am is a beautiful waterfall. It might also be a part of a one-lane road. It is vibrant, with water splashing perfectly. To my right is a version of my wife. We seem to be in Brazil. Mostly, I am focusing on the waterfall and various aspects change over time. It is very peaceful. The sound of the waterfall is vivid and softly stimulating. At times it appears smaller rocks crumble from near the top and fall down into the river. Sometimes it seems like they reappear, or more like they “bounce” back up to their prior position in slow motion. Sometimes it seems as if I can will the waterfall to move in reverse, and it seems that I do. At times, it appears there is no water, only mud, but it starts flowing again. I am slowly learning what affirmation to indirectly think of to cause each of the changes.

I think of going around for a better view. I walk around, I think to the south (my right) and go down some rickety, ridiculously unsuitable wooden steps. Sometimes boards or entire steps fall out from under my feet and I just have to walk on the air. I feel a bit bad for people who will not be able to use the staircase at all when it has finished falling into the foamy river. The waterfall is much louder. Well, that seems rather weird for a dream. I walk around to a few locations testing this concept, and it seems to work. This has happened before and is quite extraordinary. Sometimes it even works with perceived electrical energy. It has something to do with muscles in the neck moving a certain way, perhaps, as I can cause ringing in my ears (with various pitches) by stretching my neck certain ways, especially noticeable when there is white noise in the environment (such as a computer tower with the side open and with a loud CPU fan).

Well, I go around the edge of an embankment a bit down from the road and walk along to the waterfall (about the middle area relative to top to bottom) and instead of a waterfall it is a beaded curtain. Now what? I am fairly certain I was watching a waterfall all that time and not a large beaded curtain hiding a cave. The girl/wife follows me in and I sort of, for some strange reason, revert to my childhood. After moving past the beaded curtain, there are a couple hippies sitting in the semi-darkness of the cave. Strangely, these are the “hippies” from a comic book cover I have not seen since comic books were twelve cents. Can you believe it? Now they can be twelve DOLLARS or so. What in the world have these people been doing in this small cave behind a fake waterfall all these years?

I feign fear and run out as if it is part of a comedic movie. “Argh! Oh no! Hippies!" I yell. It is a farce, like a cheap stage show with a small audience, perhaps. My hat will not fly into the air to create the comic effect, so I get annoyed and pull it off and clumsily throw it and it barely goes two feet. Ruined scene but the director (where?) did not yell "cut”. I start to walk straight up the side of the rock-face. Not with my body horizontal as is sometimes the case, but upright, the toes of my shoes barely making contact with the protruding parts of rocks and dirt clumps. I make it to the top. A dark-haired female is doing a combination of martial arts and ballet but is wearing mostly white martial arts clothes. There is the position where one leg and much of the body is exactly horizontal and facing downwards with only the one leg for stance and balance.

“Missed the bzzzzzz…”

“Hey?” I say to someone else(?) behind me. No one there. “Pardon? What did you say?”

I try again. “I missed the BUS?" Pause. "The bus?" Pause. "I missed the buzz?" Pause.

I continue trying to voice the question as…"missed the bus”, “missed the boss”, “missed the buzz”, “missed the buds”, “missed the box”, “missed the bucks”, “missed the bugs”, and even “missed the Boz” with a brief flash of the singer Boz Scaggs. I mostly try to stay on “bus”, though.

I go near the railing and the martial arts girl mostly ignores me but still seems friendly in facial expressions. The immediate area seems somewhat like a semi-circular parking lot for visitors to the park. However, I get impressions of weight moving towards me like a sort of dream within the dream, and sort of like some kind of telepathic dodgem game. I casually touch the railing…and the entire section falls down, clattering down the high rocky embankment. Pieces tumble down end over end and cause an explosion far below, I think in a park utility building. Oh well.

A weight moves against me but it is my wife and I hardly have time to say “Oh!” before I am airborne (there is a strange vocal impression - a bubbly cheerful phrase I do not quite get or maybe just gibberish - and a blissful mood from the movie “Oliver” - “Who Will Buy?”). I land quickly on my back and look up. Everything is tiny. I am fascinated by the “tall” pine trees moving like small soft feathers when I touch them. Now I am as high as the very high embankment. Eventually, I see that I am looking over a very large part of the world; large rivers, a long bridge, all very small; boats, ships, hundreds of tiny buildings, and eventually seeing nearly twenty percent of the entire world for a time. Then…

Pure bliss. Breathtaking. I am lying on my back. Breathing seems frozen in time yet still correct. I watch the clouds moving at a moderate speed overhead, looking straight up. Small, somewhat narrow purplish clouds, all at about the same distance from each other, with hues of gold and silver against the fairly dark sky, which is growing lighter (it seems to be early in the morning now). There is sort of a rustling energy from somewhere. There are no words to describe the soft blissful feelings. I turn my head slightly to the side and see my wife’s profile in the distance, but it is actually the shape of a mountain…but then…we are in a mountainous region, almost forgot…

“Who will buy
This wonderful morning?
Such a sky
You never did see!
Who will tie
It up with a ribbon
And put it in a BOX for me?”

(from “Oliver”)

Morning of October 24, 2013. Thursday.



This dream starts out where I and at least three others including my wife are in my old apartment on King Street. The ages are not right (my wife would be about eight years younger by comparison) as we are all seemingly around eighteen, but become younger in later scenes. Firstly the room we are in is an alternate universe that is embedded within this one. There is some sort of setup where if a normal human being is in the area, it changes back into how the room should look to them, including all the various possessions we have then going into an invisible, phased state. It only becomes as it is now (automatically) when one of us wants to rest or stay there for a time. At least one of the others is Eddie K, a Christian-Slater-like tulpa from dreams from many years back (one of the only other males in dreams that ever had special abilities), and an unknown female (named Pearl).

Around this time, there is also activity in another room - apparently somewhat normal people but those who know of us - but who are a bit mixed up, “challenged”, and “slow” and not a threat of any kind (one may be based on the pinhead I knew in real life at that time). There is something about seeing my family name in the newspaper. I go to show the newspaper to a normal human female for some reason and the pinhead accidentally moves his arm around and knocks it out of my hand because he wants to mostly only live his life as a dog(?) but also sometimes mutters gibberish and gets very angry when people read newspapers. I get sort of angry at him (not intense) and when I gather the pages together I see that the newspaper print is mostly all misaligned all over the page with words and sentences flowing into other words. It seems then to be in the future even though we are much younger. Humans (and human society) have reached such a state of “decay” that newspapers are mostly made up of only erroneous lines of text that move at various lesser angles over nearby sentences, but which reveal clusters of print that only we can read in a beneficial way. This apparently is caused by the paper going through the printers incorrectly, such as at angles or with localized folds. In other words, we are moving into a sort of natural entropy regarding the human race and almost all of their inventions and activity.

I get somewhat annoyed (especially at the “dog person”) and make the choice that we will not associate with humans anymore, as it seems to serve no purpose. All they do is meander around, entertain themselves with almost anything, much of it destructive to the body and mind, and cause trouble with invented stories about people they do not like. Eddie seems to agree and we eventually all agree and go back to the “pocket universe” for a time until the property owner returns. From this point my wife and I are intimate for what seems a long time, but on a sofa aligned south to north (our heads to the south). The television is on but it seems like mostly random pieces of different newscasts and short scenes of people in violent confrontations and yelling gibberish. Later, it seems we decide to go out and enjoy the night air. I have several pairs of shoes at that location, most extremely expensive, but the first pair I put on are from a cheap local store. Even though they are brand new, the outer plastic-like thin layer of the shoe on top and around the toes cracks and flakes off like old paint within seconds, with me deciding to peel off the larger pieces. Eddie smiles and asks me why I would attempt to wear modern human-made shoes when they only last for about thirty seconds when first worn. I am soon wearing shoes that are somewhat like fancy tennis shoes, but which also have hiking boot properties.

We go downstairs and see that the property owners (who live in the same building) have their door open but are not near the vestibule. We go out and it seems late at night, possibly near midnight. As we walk down the street, I remember all the hundreds of dreams where I was on my own and enjoying the beautiful evening while flying swiftly (about ten to twenty feet at various times) over the streets, staying mostly directly above the street itself to avoid the trees and higher buildings on each side (but still able to fly up and beyond when I wished to). These dreams of flying, which have recurred throughout my life, have always felt like the most enjoyable, peaceful scenes, and I am often wrapped in a cloak or use it to maneuver (somewhat like a bat but not with flapping, just gliding). It is how I often travel, often on my own, but sometimes with others. Often, there are no other people or cars anywhere. It is timeless and perfect.

My wife and I begin to float and walk at the same time, walking up invisible “steps” (recurring) and then flying in a face down position for a time, lightly holding hands, and like two people steering the same vessel. It is blissful, like a frozen moment in the so-called dead of night.

Eventually, there are more of us, about six or seven. We land and walk through a common type of building in my dreams, which is somewhat like a very large empty garage, sometimes with small and sparse factory areas or commercial auto-repair features and sometimes in rarer cases, seemingly a storage area for older appliances or restaurant equipment (which is often between two larger buildings). We are now only about sixteen years old or younger, although I think the ages are now more varied. It seems that I am the oldest of the group now. (I guess we can change our ages at will.)

As we near the opening of the “garage” to the east, which has a column through the middle of the entryway, there are a few people around, most of them late-shift workers and about three police officers. One says my first name in a very friendly but respectful way. I guess there is a curfew and we are too young to be out at night. “Don’t you read the newspapers?” says another officer. “This is a dangerous place to be, especially so late at night”. Apparently there are several criminals that go around attacking people at this time, but we had not seen anyone else until then.

“We’ll just be on our way,” I say somewhat defiantly as we all keep walking, but they seem reluctant to let us into the more open area of the city and tell us that we should go home. The town is called “Pittsville” - which I only found out was a real name tonight (and in fact, is even supposedly the geographic center of Wisconsin) - as the name was used for years as a slang name for any town that was “boring” to live in (a play on a place being “the pitts”). La Crosse and other towns were called “Pittsville” in real life when there were no “exciting” events going on.

“We’ll be fine,” I say, “I have a weapon, a wristwatch that uses satellites to focus lasers and which can destroy anything in any area." One man wants to see it in operation and I ponder that there may be trouble if the local government realizes what we can do, though it does not seem a direct concern. I still pull back my sleeve to expose the device which is about twice the size of a normal wristwatch. The man who wanted to see it in operation tells me to destroy a very large old tree (possibly based on the Tree of Knowledge from Florida when I was young) including the large roots. I tell him that people would be angry and that I should focus on a better test target, which, oddly enough, may be one palm tree in a row of palm trees (there being no palm trees as such in the area of Wisconsin we are supposedly in). There also seems to be other plants in the area, almost prehistoric in their appearance, like ancient forms of palmetto or some such.

I adjust the small dials on the device which works by showing a real satellite view of the entire area with a superimposed grid and it is easy to move a small cross-hairs icon over the lines, operating somewhat like an Etch-a-Sketch. Soon, I push a small button when the cross-hairs are over the tree in the satellite view and a bright laser comes from somewhere, but seemingly up from the ground instead of down from the sky. However, it is some sort of targeting beacon of which there are thousands hidden all over the world at near ground-level for extra precision. A larger laser comes straight down from the sky and destroys the larger palm tree. From there, we walk about freely as people back away from us.

Morning of October 23, 2013. Wednesday.



In a dream that seems somewhat age-angst-relevant (concerned about getting older I suppose, not “old”, just older), I am back in school, but it is not any school I ever went to and my classmates are all unfamiliar. There are about seven or eight students (at least three females and a few males) and my mother (who died years ago) is also there. It almost seems to be a music studio in my home in Cubitis as well as my mother’s last room in Wisconsin at a sister’s house before moving into the Manor. A taller dark-haired female (completely unfamiliar in all ways) who seems to be someone important to me talks with me. Later, just as the school day is an hour from ending, I start to get annoyed for some reason, wondering what I am doing there. My mother asks a different taller dark-haired girl (who has her back to me and looking at a computer, as are most of the others - with about five or six computers in the room, which I never saw growing up in reality) about something in a way that seems to imply she is trying to be a “matchmaker” somehow and mistaking her for the other girl - asking her something about an e-mail address or something, I think. I am rather annoyed and shaking my head and trying to get her attention away from her and make subtle hints about it being the other girl (which really makes no sense at all from my perspective) without anyone knowing the person has (or could have) a connection to me.

I get more and more annoyed, the most annoyed being from a cassette tape that I had recorded a lot of music on and it (the tape itself) turns into tangled yellow felt inside the cassette case (which makes no sense - I have had brand new “dud” tapes in real life but not like this - I also have had tapes get “eaten” in real life years ago, but it has not been a concern for about fifteen years or so - and why would I try to record on felt anyway - I have worked with felt and wonder why people ever bother to use it - it is extremely fragile and very short-lasting). I get the feeling, that, even though it seems I have two or three years of school left that I am “never going back” (which I say in my dream) and am “done with it all” as well as the seeming two weeks for the particular “class” I am in at the time. It seems rather final and even positive in some ways (but considering it also seems to be at my own house, it makes no sense). After a time, as I am waking, I realize I am not a young teenager, but am fairly “old” and feel quite strange as if I had moved briskly through time. Not really a regret, just wondering what had happened.

“Red tape” is the idiom that refers to excessive regulation or rigid conformity to formal rules considered redundant or bureaucratic though there may be a subtle association with the “yellow tape” - possibly also a subtle relevance to “yellow pages” and communication. Felt may relate to feeling as in human feeling or feeling healing (though again, I see it as fragile and very short-lasting).

Morning of October 22, 2013. Tuesday.



This is a highly unusual and very long dream. It starts out almost like a somewhat vague origin story in a comic book (with some sort of unknown “powers” growing in me), but there is no even transition between my first to second “place” in the movie-length events. I seem myself at first, although there are unusual moods and images - I do not even look like myself for the rest of my dream (after I become the agent).

I am in Wisconsin again and am in the backyard near a small metal fence between houses. I think it is a garden area, but there are not that many larger plants. Right near the bottom of the fence itself, in an area of mostly only dirt, are what looks like a couple of bones, still with some of the fur and sinew on. I soon discover that one is the front-right leg of a cat with a small bit of fur with tiger stripes. I find some other pieces, including a skull, and it feels a bit strange and sad. I set them to my left in an area just off from the garden. After a short time, the pile of bones, fur, and sinew seems to rise and lower as if in breathing motions. Oddly, I see now that it is a living cat (which is now more like a black and white one than a tiger or tabby) that was injured badly but is now doing a bit better (as I had put the parts together) so that he is able to get up but still has a large gaping hole on his left side through which the lungs can be seen moving. He gets up and I am concerned about him wandering off in that condition. He goes into a shed (which then seems to be the rabbit farm as it was in Florida) and jumps high up onto the narrow ledge on the top of a window. Over time, I get him to come down by calling to him and then pet him for awhile and he starts purring.

A little later I am with my wife and an unknown girl on the porch. The girl is talking about some strange things that scientists are supposedly doing, including sterilization of animals (such as predators) that eat only meat. There are a few different militant groups involved in civil disturbances and such and the world seems more unsafe than ever - and the public more uneducated than ever before regardless of all the online courses (many freely available or at least in demo stages) in everything from biology to civics and economics. Not caring if I am believed or not, I start talking about how the cat “became a cat” when it had not been a full, living cat (almost like describing mitosis in extensive detail - prophase, metaphase, anaphase, and telophase - which almost seems to be something relating to how the world is changing as well). The girl looks at me oddly but does not comment. From that point, everything starts to change, and I am an “agent” of some kind, wearing an extremely expensive suit and carrying a gun.

The first mission is to secure a three-storey laboratory where there are a large number of people, male and female, of various ages (from ages twenty to about sixty), all in white lab robes, involved in a project to sterilize all cats in the world - with cats eventually becoming extinct. Cats are carnivores, and come just prior to the planned world-sterilization of wild feline carnivores, then onto dogs (as dogs are supposedly omnivores, although one credible website states that “dogs have a natural and undeniable carnivorous bias”). In real life, I have seen cats eat grass and vegetable matter, but the act usually makes them vomit (they lack the necessary enzymes to break down vegetable matter), which is supposedly beneficial. I am not sure of what the overall missions are, but I always follow orders and go where I am supposed to. In this case, I am supposed to guard one door - with a gun and with two other agents with me - so that people do not get out - and am also clearly aware that I am immune to the gas that is to be released from the non-lethal bombs. Eventually, there is an announcement over the entire intercom system that everyone involved in the sterilization of animals will, instead, be sterilized themselves. This comes as a shock to people and they start racing around in an attempt to get out of the building before the mechanisms/non-lethal bombs go off. Something goes wrong, chaos ensues, and people fall or jump out of windows from the third floor (as well as the lower windows).

There are explosions as I am just outside the building and most of the lab workers are shot when they near the circular scrimmage line about ten feet out at the shortest distance from the building. Somehow, hundreds of people are killed (including an agent or two) and only three civilians escape, each with an agent escort. The younger man with me is annoyed that he had been sterilized and I tell him about the “cure” - which simply involves extended foreplay and he then seems a bit more positive in getting away from the area - which now involves military action between two new forces coming in, neither being us (relating to some sort of strategical trick to reduce the number of “enemy agents” and military forces worldwide).

After this, there are other acts such as apparent espionage, but we are supposedly the “good guys” in every case. Sometimes I am recognized as an agent (often due to the extremely expensive and supposedly stylish suit I am wearing) but easily shoot my way out. There also seem to be double agents, but these are dealt with severely.

At one point, there is an attempt to stop a row of at least six missiles from being launched. Something goes wrong and the missiles somehow fall over but still activate. They “launch” downwards at about a twenty degree angle (at first) into the ground (but eventually somehow tip directly down into the deeper and deeper holes caused by vibrations and explosions - none of this seems all that realistic in a technical sense), causing a localized earthquake; huge plumes of dust and debris are moving straight up, evenly into the sky in a squarish form, almost like an “elevator of debris”, but also causing the field to grow higher and higher while somehow leaving the column of debris, almost as if it is like a slowly manifesting “tall building” of some kind. This goes on for several minutes as people scatter about, a few being killed, apparently. I, being one of the only ones left, am able to finally get away when the ground stops moving. The “ghost building” implied by the previous debris column is no longer there, though.

Eventually, I am on an airplane with a few more inexperienced agents (dressed in less expensive outfits and some without weapons) to help them somehow. One of them, a female, turns around in her seat and asks me if I know when “his” anniversary is. I am not sure what or who she means and just sort of randomly say “January 7th” (oldest son’s birthday) and she smiles triumphantly, saying that it is actually February seventh. She had been talking about an older man sitting a couple seats in front of her (and nearest the aisle) who seems to suffer from some sort of disorder (causing him to be mentally “slow”) as well as possibly being a prisoner rather than an agent.

Eventually, when on another (longer) airplane trip with many civilians, we land near a potentially dangerous area, although it is reported that many of the enemy had been killed. However, there still may be a double agent or two or a few members of paramilitary groups left in certain areas near the airport. There are still paramilitary groups planning to kill all wild cats (even those that are on the endangered list), followed by other meat-eating animals.

I somehow miss my perfectly-timed cue to leave the airplane in a slow “perfect” way as other agents leave in a planned one-at-a-time progression, so, in order to keep all the other agents safe in their present location, I must remain on the airplane as only civilians now board, being the only agent left on the airplane. This does not bother me all that much, as it is possible I will be the only living agent left in the region if anything goes wrong. Many of the passengers are female and of various ages.

One of them looks at me directly, asking “Who are you?” and smiles happily. She seems like an average person, quite naive, yet very good-natured and friendly. I hear a few other people asking about me in other seats on the airplane, mostly as “who is he” or “who is that”.

“He is our Protector,” says another girl (and I then wonder if I am supposed to be recognized as an agent by the general public). She says it like pro-TECH-tore (dramatically rhyming with “ore” rather than “her”). I feel a bit strange. I feel a sense of universality; that is, I feel as if my mind is “all mind”/“the only mind” for awhile. It is not a lonely feeling as a whole - as there are always other energies, yet all of them are “my” energies (at least on the airplane) as if I am “everything” and always have been “everything”. I ponder this awareness for several minutes, but I look down and notice bread crumbs on my suit and begin to brush them off. More and more bread crumbs gather on the floor of the airplane near my feet and I sort of feel a bit embarrassed by this (I do not even remember having eaten anything - perhaps it was quite some time ago, perhaps a sandwich or two from a vending machine at or near a gas/petrol station). An older lady, who is standing for a time (unlike most of the other passengers), starts talking about many people being “hamsters” with a comment about how they “stink” in some locations of the world (even certain restaurants), yet it is not in a cruel way, just sort of comedic - and almost feels as if she is sharing a recipe (yet in getting certain ingredients from restaurants - does not make sense) with some of the other people. More and more bread piles up near my feet until some “crumbs” are as big as an entire loaf of bread. This is bound to draw too much attention, but I do not say anything, and anyway, the airplane is about to take off. I am a consciousness that will remain here until I am elsewhere - “the last agent”.

“The living bread is with us,” comments another person, “We are safe for now”. I am not sure what is going to happen; I feel a growing sense of infinity. I wait for the airplane to take off (it seems to grow larger and larger and I seem to be in a seat in the first row - but the directional orientation seems to have changed from before) but I slowly wake up instead.

The scholastic “mitosis” acronym, PMAT (Prophase Metaphase Anaphase Telophase) can also stand for:

Political-Military Action Team (PMAT)

It includes things like “Coordinate military operations with the National Joint Operations and Intelligence Center (NJOIC), geographic combatant command centers, and the Department Operations Center.” and “Process diplomatic aircraft and ship clearance applications or amendments – and handle related interagency inquiries – on nights, weekends, & holidays.”

Morning of October 20, 2013. Sunday.



I am in a mostly empty room which seems to be a store of some kind, possibly one that only sells hats, because I am thinking of a talking-animals story I did as an educational task a few years ago (for second or third-grade level) - not sure as I have been extensively through tens of thousands of stories at various grade levels, or perhaps it was related to only a reading session for a younger son. Now that I think about it a bit more, it (the real-life children’s story) might have only been mostly an umbrella store. At any rate, my dream presents the store as empty and I am somewhat concerned or rather puzzled.

“About hats?” I sort of speak aloud to an empty hat-rack near the main public entrance which has a sort of Art Deco appearance. “About hats?” echoes a voice behind the apparent counter and room-focus of the store. I see my shadow and realize, as I swing my arms, it was only a “real” echo and no one else is there, apparently. People are walking by the windows of the store as if in an informal parade. I wonder where my hat is. Of course I am wearing one, but it seems illogical to be wearing a hat in an empty hat shop.

“You’re missing the end of the world,” someone cheerfully calls through the partly open door from outside after dinging a small copper bell when he opens it.

“I can’t find my hat,” I affirm, even though I know I am wearing one. An entire series of dreams sort of comes back to me from when I was three years of age. Many of my dreams I had during one time period at age three involved people walking along the side of the road carrying heavy (wicker?) baskets and in some cases, carts or “primitive” wheelbarrows, as well as a small horse and carriage. The fruit and vegetables they had gathered were bright and colorful (some also had several rabbits from a hunt or collections of fish) and it seemed that even though they had little money, the experience of simple day to day gardening or farming or hunting made them as fully aware and as enriched as possible. I marveled at their friendliness. I am not sure what my place was. I had been walking about outside, and from a child’s perspective I almost felt at home, even though they were “not my people”. When I look back, I get the impression of somewhere in Eastern Europe, perhaps Croatia(?) However, it also seemed to be a different time period, perhaps the 1920s or earlier. This dream within a dream comes back to where I am.

I peek through another door in the back of the shop and it is a small library or possibly an area that sells second-hand books. There are books of various colors of binding, but many of red and blue. A girl (unknown) seems to be confused on what book she is holding as well as looking at other areas on the shelf. “This library is wrong,” she says in a matter-of-fact way. I look at a page from a book and see that all of the letters are symmetrical mirror images from their end width and cut off at where the middle would be. For example, an “A” looks like a “V” with a short horizontal line on each side, a capital “H” looks like a lowercase “t” and so on.

I place my left hand on the large mahogany bookshelf and at first it seems to quickly grow ice everywhere along every row, all around the entire room. It makes a very pleasing, blissful “tinkling” sound, like coins falling on a soft metallic or perhaps glass surface and spinning or rolling very gently. However, the books seem to shift somehow, a sort of a wavy impression in the eyes.

“It reads well,” she nods. “Thank you. I wanted to enjoy a book while the humans are celebrating the end of the world yet again. There are so many there. Some of them never leave…they are all LEMMINGS,” she whispers loudly, her eyes creating a vibrating “ripple of the surface of a pond” effect. All light, too bright to see, then normal.

“What is your name?”

“Hattie…”

“Oh that’s real funny,” I say cheerfully (relating to the play on “hat”). “…real funny,” echoes the shadow from the front room of the shop. (Perhaps unintended or unrelated by my dream’s character, but “Blackwater Hattie” - also written as “Haddie” is the name of a witch from one of my favorite songs, Jim Stafford’s “Swamp Witch”, from my youth - with a fantastic message - one of the best I had ever heard - about mainstream ignorance and hypocrisy.)

http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/j/j...amp_witch.html

Morning of October 18, 2013. Friday.



There was a longer series of dreams with a lot of facets, but I will try to summarize one without taking up several pages in detail and isolating the clearer, stronger events of this particular longer one and work with another three or four in a different entry.

In one setting, we are living in a composite of the house we lived in in Wavell Heights (Queensland, Australia) and my old Cubitis home (Florida, USA). It is probably about ninety percent Wavell Heights, including most of the outside and yard area, and about ten percent Cubitis, although the directional orientation I will use is relevant to the feeling of Cubitis. In one scene, I am lying on the floor on my side near the entrance of the kitchenette, my head to the south and my body facing west. My wife is at a table close by and working on a computer. In real life, even when younger, I spent time lying on the floor to stay cooler, especially in this extreme heat. The kitchenette is different in that the south wall seems to be part of a corner of the house and has a smaller jalousie window above the sink and between the taller wooden wall cupboards (which in real life was just a solid wall on the opposite side of the bathroom). A neighbor (unknown dark-haired young woman of about twenty-five) moves one of the middle jalousie panes thus opening the entire window to peer through. Apparently she thinks we are intruders and although I think of calling the police, we do not, as the other person (who seems to be with someone) is also planning to call the police.

In another scene, outside, there is a very large white opossum that is able to jump from a tree farther back in the backyard (near the implied alley) all the way to the treeline in front, on the boulevard, in one leap. There are a total of about four fairly active opossums. This amazing act is mentioned by a few people including myself and it recurs a few times, including with a couple of the others. However, another person a few houses down plans to call the police and firefighters (to get them down from the trees) because of the “dangerous wildlife” in the area, which is also supposedly a disruption to urban life. There is then a false-memory-flashback of a newspaper story of how a baby opossum (now the largest and the one that does the biggest jumps) was taken care of by a few people on a farm and raised by humans (which clarifies the idea that it should never be harmed or taken elsewhere, as it is “now” almost like a well-known city mascot or living symbol) - although my wife had raised an Australian opossum in real life prior to our first contact. This had a precognitive layer, as my wife just now told me of a local fire on a pig farm and the news announcer saying that the workers had to have counseling - as they raised the pigs from babies and most or all of the pigs were killed in the fire (although one account said that one had to be shot). Opossum is usually said to mean “smiling white pig”. This seems quite strange to both of us - as the pigs are killed for food anyway - so it was not like they were solely “pets”.

In another unusual scene, a large Florida black panther is in the area (the last time I saw one in real life was years ago in the swamp where my family lived, but my wife had seen one much more recently here at a show in Australia - and still has a poster from the event), which also prompts someone (possibly the same one who called about the opossums) to call the police and firefighters (so that is three potential police calls thus far in my dream - although you would think there would be an “animal control” team by that point). However, in a highly unlikely confrontation, a small black domestic cat comes up face to face with the panther and hisses and the panther seems terrified and runs away, leaving the neighborhood.

In another scene, some neighbors are at our house, mostly men as they would be dressed on a camping or hunting trip, about five or six other people - all of them Caucasian and Australian (and likely of Brisbane). We seem to be planning to go on a longer camping trip or perhaps just a fishing trip. One (unknown) man of about forty is patronizing me (to the point of insult, it seems) by first seeming to be miming the act of fishing - with casting and reeling motions and such - which apparently becomes an act of miming the swinging or throwing of a tomahawk and he even uses the word “tomahawk” as he finishes his routine. I am annoyed but do not seem to show it. (In real life as a boy I had a toy tomahawk with a wooden handle and a rubber blade, but never owned a real one.) We are in different areas of the room about six feet apart, both of us sitting in smaller wooden chairs. Most of the other men in the room are oriented in a sparse arrangement, some sitting on the vinyl couch, one or two standing. The “gag” seems to be that someone such as myself would throw a tomahawk at the fish to get it rather than catch it and reel it in “normally” as a “proper” fisherman (read westerner).

Later on, there seems to be two monophonic country songs playing at the same time (on an older tape deck which I no longer have), of a style I do not particularly care for. Each track is on one of the two stereo channels. This is actually a trick which an older brother used in real life to archive a larger number of monophonic recordings onto CDs for different relatives in different parts of the world - several done by myself as a boy, some being with my father. In my dream, instead of a balance dial, there are two volume dials - one for each stereo channel, left and right, a fictional feature on each side of the tape deck (which is otherwise only slightly different to the real-life one). I turn one dial down to zero, but the music still seems mixed up with two songs playing, so I mess around adjusting each dial in different ways, trying to work out levels (sixty/forty, etc.) wondering if it is mid-side encoded rather than stereo, which would require a very precise value for each dial to only bring out the one monophonic recording, or so it seems in my dream. I experiment a bit, getting a bit annoyed by the music. Eventually it seems there is only one song playing (a less annoying one by George Strait - “Love is Everything” I think), but there is still a mono copy in each channel which are of slightly different microsecond timing so that there is a figure-eight phasing, causing the sound to seem to move about and swirl in different areas of the room. At that point, my dream becomes less focused. There is yet another person mentioning something about calling the police (fourth instance) related to teenagers loitering near other people’s houses and a litter of puppies and dogs causing noise and irritation (perhaps not the same person who called about the “dangerous wildlife”, not sure as there are a few people walking about in the area, some going on a picnic or school event, I think).

There is one final scene where I (relative to the expectations of a few other people regarding a fight at another location in addition to all the other calls - thus the fifth instance of police-calling in one dream) seem to be waiting for the police, but they never arrive. This seems to be some sort of well-known fact. If the police get calls related to more than one complaint or event in a particular area - it is far beyond their ability to deal with and so they ignore it completely, being only able to mentally and physically focus on one issue in a particular time period in the region. Meanwhile, I get the sense that they (two officers in a police car) are fairly far away waiting for a call in which only one issue is manifesting over a longer time period…

Morning of October 17, 2013. Thursday.



This was a new, rather sparse and non-eventful dream with little emotion. It seems to be on a distant planet which had recently changed governments, somewhat like part of a “hand-me-down” tradition. There is one scene in a large room where I watch others carving small statues that are all the same basic design. The design is much like the one in the image - of a male in a kowtow position on a small, thin base.

Each member of the group (mostly males of a few different age ranges) is working only on their own small statue (most of them are finished), each person in a sitting position on the floor, being part of a precise grouping of about five rows and columns in the larger room, which has no furniture. There does seem to be something resembling a business office setup on the opposite side of the room.

One person, instead of making the kowtow statue, has instead made what appears to be the Chacmool. Another person is scolding him saying that he has made it wrongly and needs to fix it (without starting over). The person is saying that the statue’s head must be down (and implying the eyes are mostly looking down) so that he “doesn’t see the bus coming” (?) - but the whole statue is “wrong-side up”, so it will probably be very difficult to “fix”.

Later on, it still is not right, and the man is lectured again. It looks as if he may never get it right and the final group project will have one major flaw - unique to the particular government? It is wrong to show one’s eyes directly in public, it is explained. The man does not seem all that upset or annoyed by having done the job incorrectly.

Later on, there is other art and sculpture being done. The floor has a thin surface in one part, or some sort of very thin slate “veneer”, almost paper-thin. One unknown female watches me closely, but I believe my mother is also there on the opposite side of the area. I only have a pencil but somehow manage to do a light rubbing of the entire area of the “floor” in a short time (which “reacts” somewhat like tracing paper to the movements of the pencil - which I hold at about thirty degrees as I do the rubbing), and as I am doing this, I say “I can automatically bring out an image in this way” (or saying something very similar).

When I am finished, it is an actual simple drawing or sketch of a woman facing the viewer, the face being the most defined. The person that had been watching is unsure what to believe even though she had been there the whole time (even asking me if I had done it with the pencil, etc.), as if she is, in a subtle way, questioning what had just happened regarding my “magical” ability. She seems a bit puzzled, unresolved, not in complete denial (but “ungrounded”), just unsure of the experience in seeing something unexplained unfold, somewhat of the same reaction I have seen hundreds of times in real life with other things, such as real-time and more detailed precognition validation. It is, in fact, seemingly one of the more outstanding traits of “normal” humans, bordering on the threshold of the more extreme short-term amnesia I have also seen quite often.

Links:

Chacmool

Kowtow

Morning of October 14, 2013. Monday.



I am in a “Star Trek” (next generation era) scenario, on a colonized planet in a distant star system that produces products and materials for day to day living, it seems. There is a shorter highly overweight woman who is in charge of everything, but not in an aggressive way at all; in fact, quite matter-of-fact, friendly to some extent at times, and assertive (but who also cares nothing about Starfleet regulations or continuous infringements of human life). The setting seems to be some sort of odd composite of a sister’s house in Wisconsin and the middle school I went to (DMS) in Florida as well as at least two other generic areas from outside a real-life courthouse and factory I worked at in real life. People are in rows of more open (more shallow than many I have seen in real life) cubicles and alcoves. They are working on futuristic computers as well as what seems to be smaller products and such.

I am there to make a few arrests regarding some sort of withholding of resources and credits (on a regular basis) from particular people in their work with the “salami technique”. Credit amounts and certain resources have been stolen from certain random people over a longer time period so that, if that had not happened, the victims would quite possibly be in very large, exquisite homes or in a much higher position in Starfleet. It does not seem like that much of an issue with the people on the planet, though, which gets me more and more annoyed.

“It’s a human rights violation,” I explain (as well as it being an obvious illegal act in general), but these people in the “Star Trek universe” do not seem at all concerned with human rights as if the term means nothing. They (even the ones being victimized) smile about it all in a near-“so what”, near-paradisaical mentality. I know there must be some sort of law in the “Star Trek Universe” (in my dream) but it seems futile to try to pursue investigation, as people continue what they are doing even though some things must stop here and there to see certain connections and digital documents. They create the impression of slaves marching happily over a cliff and even smiling as they fall. This may, in a subtle way, be something to do with the ridiculous level of overly passive diplomacy with potentially deadly aliens as seen on some “Star Trek” episodes, something I had never given much conscious thought to, as it is only a fantasy, but I have still been a fan most of my life.

If I do not pursue my work, the conspiracy will continue indefinitely, although the victims (as well as all the planet’s people in authority) do not even seem to care.

I place one person under arrest and he stands to the side cheerfully and arrange to arrest a few others. The female manager/supervisor of this factory (the overweight woman) tells people to just continue what they are doing. Finally, I am so annoyed that I tell the woman that she is under arrest as well as the conspirators, but she does not seem concerned. I tell her that she will be incarcerated at the nearest Starbase brig for at least two weeks. I go outside and wait for my team, including members from other space shuttles and ships, all of them seemingly in their twenties. Six of them materialize in front of my eyes (as on the actual “Star Trek” show), followed by a few more with weapons drawn.

Three of them go into the main area of the factory where the boss is still standing. One of them speaks in a loud, authoritative voice but it drops off in hesitation, “We are taking you into custody under Starfleet authority and taking you to…ummm…” (forgetting the name of the location - then seeming to wait for someone to remind him) and then everyone starts laughing as if it is all a joke (or like an actor forgetting his lines). In the back of my mind, being semi-lucid, I have this feeling that it is all pretend, anyway, but am still annoyed. It is like everyone has no focus or comprehension of matters at hand.

With my weapon, I vaporize many people in the area (the non-complying supervisor first, followed by all of my own absent-minded and useless “fresh out of Starfleet Academy” team members). This is another entry into the more recent recurring “shoot everything that annoys me” dream theme.

I beam to my Danube-class runabout and it has a weapon of virtually unlimited power, which I do not really question the nature of. I use it to disintegrate the entire factory, followed by the entire region, with only minor thoughts of the victims of the original conspiracy all dying this way (a bit ironic, I suppose). I fly out a bit farther and then wipe out the entire planet into a large dust cloud, with only a few grains of dirt left floating about in space. I am not totally sure what I will be doing next, but will probably be reporting back to Starfleet for a failed mission…

Morning of October 1, 2013. Tuesday.



Lately (mostly over only the past few months), I have had a recurring “dream habit” of immediately shooting anyone that even slightly annoys me in a dream scenario (almost always near the last three-quarters to the ending of my dream) - although it probably has not vividly occurred in dreams more than about ten times thus far. I am not quite sure how this developed - especially as my patience with people in real life is much higher than many I know of - or perhaps this is actually the reason - to safely “unwind” in my dream, so to speak. I seem to immediately be able to use my hand as a gun (as I am not fully clear on if my hand is actually holding anything when I shoot) although there is always a gun-like sound. The other character (usually male) drops on the first shot and is out of my dream entirely - and for the most part, no other additional character even seems to notice. Strangely enough, it does not even feel like a violent act in my dream, more of a way to simply eliminate certain annoying characters of my dream to move on to a potentially better scenario - my mind is quite focused and certain and aware on this act as if it is the right thing to do at any time within any dream - and how it works - as I said, a new actual dream “habit”.

This dream, at one point, is focused on a lifelong dream theme of three-storey houses not being quite “safe”. In one part of my dream, I seem to be looking over our “new home”. My oldest daughter is much younger - however, it could also be that our baby daughter is much older, yet she does mostly seem like our oldest daughter Amelia at about six years or more younger. Our “home” first seems to be a very large garage-like structure with a low roof, with no additional rooms. It has a sort of old dampness like a cave and is on the corner of a city block. Coincidentally, this seems connected directly to (but completely different locations) 415 N Wilson Street/Avenue (but the “actual” in-dream location corresponding with 2 West Oak Street, near the “Tree of Knowledge” that has been there since I was very young), which, in turn, was a scene from another dream I wrote about on here recently. Not only that, in Google maps, I spotted the triangular area and even a yellow smaller bulldozer-like vehicle on the 415 address, which eerily seems to come straight from “The Dead One” entry on here even though it was a childhood dream of many years back.

Later, though, we are in the same location, but there is something about needing to move. It is a three-storey house. The third floor is sort of disintegrating over time, the floorboards unsafe to walk on, so we do not really use the third floor anymore. Curiously, even though I have had similar dreams about such odd floors all my life, it was only in very recent times that I actually lived in (or even been in at all in real life, for that matter) a house with weird, thin floorboards with larger gaps between them (which also happens to be where the astronomically highest rent ever paid is, as well - even though this house would probably not even be allowed to stand in the USA). This of course, had to be some form of precognition, as no matter how strange or unlikely dream imagery is, it often turns out to reflect amazing foresight of various kinds even for the very distant future.

There seems to be concern about daughter Amelia’s safety and we are planning to move from the house in my dream (in real life, our present house is only one storey). There are scenes about information on why people should not live in a three-storey house, the third floor which is often more quickly in a state of disintegration, perhaps with a connection to the idea of relics in an attic. It may also relate to a sense of mainstream group mind being “above” me in numbers, yet in a state of decay relative to knowledge (whereas the basement would be the supraconscious, both positive and negative totality). Realistically, it does not make that much sense at all for a higher floor in a house to be “older” or more worn out than the rest of the house. If anything, an upper floor, when an addition to a two-storey house, would have to be new or less used, not more. Yet in some dreams, buildings seem to age in “reverse” (at least relative to the first floor) as if the building in my dream had somehow been built from the top floor down(?).

Later, as we are mostly no longer in the house, I look out to the opposite side of the street and notice a very large and metallic green lamppost on the corner (at least five times bigger than what it should be - an exact, but “giant” model of the lamppost near the “Tree of Knowledge” in my hometown), across from where our front door would be (which in real life is now part of a bank’s parking lot, called “Suntrust” - and across the street is an inn, not a warehouse). I expect that it will fall over but miss our house, and it does, with a very loud crash near an industrial building or warehouse (rather than the inn). There is also an odd parallel sense of the “Witness Tree” or Witness Tree junction, also in Florida, and reminding me of both the Rod Stewart song “Broken Arrow” (a special song my wife and I heard prior to meeting) where he says “I will meet you at the Witness Tree, leave the whole world behind”, and the Wendy Matthews “Witness Tree” CD that came out around the same time I came to Australia (1994).

I go out to look around and when I am in the area, I am mistaken for the main member of a repair team to fix the lamppost and told to write down the serial number for the main damaged section of the light from the lamp section. Another man shows up shortly. I have a piece of paper (about half of A4 size) and a pencil. I start to write the code with the paper being on an outer window ledge of the warehouse, part of it being 415WS - 415 Wilson Street (which I think I change by drawing over it to something like X465 or similar). I ask him in a sarcastic manner if I have to write up a report (as I was the only witness to what had happened - but the report is to mostly document the exact levels of damage and repair costs) and, being slightly surprised by his answer, he says yes. I ask him about what form I should use and he makes a remark about needing to travel to get it from the company (even though there seems to be a folder of work and report forms on the outer window ledge of the warehouse with yellow and blue sheets as well as white sheets for original copies). Everything must be done by me - as he is only a foreman who only gives the orders on what people do regarding street maintenance (I have not worked for a street department in about twenty years - the last one being in Onalaska). I start to regret getting involved and being mistaken for a street department worker, but I do start to write out the longer number. I have a little trouble with the pencil as the lead is somewhat dull, so have to trace over the lines, pressing harder, in an attempt to darken them. The number codes seem very important in relating to something else - they have several sixes and at least one nine, so I focus on them for quite some time - perhaps some important, almost barely familiar patterns. This turns out to be various distortions of planck’s constant.

The other (first) man yells at me for taking so long in copying and writing out the serial code (of which I think there are at least four or five sections of mostly numbers and a few other letters in addition to the “X” and “WS”). I feel a vague sense of frustration - as I know I should be getting more out of what I am seeing on the paper (focusing on the thicker spiral of the number six which has erasure marks around the “stem” of the six), but calmly materialize a gun in my hand and shoot him. A short time passes and I shoot the other man as well. I then contemplate shooting all of the others (although I see no one else) that are supposedly not a part of “my” dream realm and slowly wake with no additional drama.

My wife’s dream of the same time period had similar elements, even the concept of being in the third floor of a house.

Other associations in addition to those already mentioned above:

“Lily of the Lamplight” I sang to my wife on a cassette tape before we met (a part of her name in English meaning “Lily”).

A recurring childhood dream of Susan R, the “other”, sitting on a bench near the “Tree of Knowledge” and crying (which would have also been near the same lamppost).

The seriously weird-sounding David Essex song (from 1973) “Lamplight”.

A number of incredibly strange coincidences and “parallels” to the new Wendy Matthews CD (all of her past CDs also having bizarre coincidences and “parallels”), even the “same” address in a song title (but in real life, a different town of course).

Important Links:

“Tree of Knowledge” with green lamppost near:

http://www.panoramio.com/photo/33809019

I have included this next first link for my own reference (though incomplete in light of her newest album related to the link after that), because, when it comes to Wendy Matthews songs, it gets pretty crazy with at least a hundred strange coincidences relating to her music and my wife and I, one recent album (one song “explained” in the second link here) has both the name of my oldest daughter and even has this song with (including the same three-digit number and name) an actual street address (but most assuredly a different town) from my childhood.

http://www.wendymatthews.com.au/discography.htm

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aGBDy3CnsIA (Note the master key “twenty-two” gate, as a heart - on the tattoo on the back at the end of the video which is apparently the album cover - and her rather odd comment - “tattooed on my memory banks” relative to things manifesting later in life - her exact words). I’m putting this up, as I consider it very precise validation at several levels (for me, personally). There was a lot more, but I decided not to post it here, as it is far too detailed, complex, and personal and is, quite frankly, too “miraculous” so to speak - some things should probably stay sacred.

Morning of September 27, 2013. Friday.



This dream was very strange and featured a type of perception I do not recall engaging in before. Most of the first section is uneventful. There is a woman I have not seen for years who worked in the office of a factory I worked at (Eco 3) way back in 1979 to 1980 or so, where they made mostly winter mats out of old tires and other items such as mats for a restaurant cooking area. I vaguely remember talking with her, but I am not sure about what. She was somewhat slovenly and we did not really talk much in real life. This takes place at my older sister’s last house she lived before I came to Australia.

I am explaining to a few people I know (mostly my wife, who, by dream continuity, would already know) how I can somehow transport to America and then back into the house where we live now (commonly recurring) by the power of thought alone (just by thinking and concentrating on it in the “right” way). In some dreams, I am aware that I can even take other people with me. It seems a rather “ordinary” ability and I am aware of how and why I do it - to get to places quicker as well as to save money on air fare. In this case, I bring my family to the USA to visit my relatives (even though they do not live at the house in my dream anymore).

There is additional detail to the front porch of the house - three concrete steps that are not very high but spread out over the whole area. This is actually a “borrowed” feature of a business building we pass when walking home from the mall (which I had not realized at first until finding myself in the area again in real life). My wife and I are later on the floor of the porch, but it is not as comfortable as it could be.

Soon, I am able to pull pillows out from “another dimension” (out of the air - or perhaps somehow “making” them as I move my arms back down). It feels very realistic to have them magically materialize in my hands out of “nowhere” and also seems like an “ordinary” ability. I “pull out” about five pillows from above my head, most of them having some sort of jaguar or leopard print.

Time passes and I start to think about how a mattress would be even better to have and to lie on. I am actually able to slowly pull a mattress out from above my head and we are soon resting on it.

Later, my wife and I are kissing and such, but a very strange awareness takes over. It is almost like my head (and hers) are “empty” hoods that somehow go over and inside each other at the same time. It feels extremely strange (but not unpleasant). It is almost as if the “hoods” are “eating” each other but still continuing to exist. Oddly enough, I am also aware of more normal sensations in the rest of my body. It is just my head that has transformed. At one point, my “mouth and throat” feel very large and with additional (unknown) structures. It is almost as if some of the structures we are “moving around in” with our “heads” are non-organic, yet still part of us. For example, at one point it seems like my wife’s tongue is actually a large wooden structure and is part of a nearby building, perhaps a balustrade. I wake up wondering what in the world is going on but not even feeling that disoriented.

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Morning of September 25, 2013. Wednesday.



I think I was in France - as a young Roma girl asks me if I saw the “Awful Tower”, a supposed play on “Eiffel Tower”, yet there were groups of (traditional) Shawnee from America. One of them says to a politician near a carnival stand relating to shooting ducks: “The white man should go home to work on the French interior” (somewhat precognitive, but a jumbled phrasing of the actual French Roma article I saw - a bit later by chance) and I get the feeling he actually meant “frontier” - though it does say “interior” in the actual article - a good example of how even the dreaming mind questions fairly precise nuances of real precognitive events. Mostly though, the dream started with carnivals being promoted near Paris, I think, yet there was a “knowledge” that carnivals were not nearly as common as they used to be and the Roma and their culture would decrease. I am with the Roma people and feel much less out of place than I ever had in western society, with scenes much like the movie on the mundiromani.com main page. I am looking around, expecting to see only the Roma doing activities relating to an upcoming carnival.

An older man is painting floral designs on a solid wooden wagon wheel (no spokes - just a flat surface area) of part of a caravan (recurring from when I was very young long before I knew about my wife-to-be), but I also notice a young chubby, light-haired Caucasian girl in a pale pink and ill-fitting ballet outfit. She is somewhat uncoordinated yet is still going to be part of the show and festivities, which I perceive as out of place. She tries a cartwheel but it fails, and she falls to the side but is uninjured. A few of the other people seem Caucasian, but there are quite a few Roma people at a nearby group of carnival stalls and kiosks and apparently a smaller camp. I feel sort of sorry for the girl in a way that she will “never integrate into Roma culture” or see things from a particular “harder” or more world-weary perspective. (Again, this appears to be somewhat “reverse precognitive” relating to a very recent article I had not seen yet: “Roma should ‘go home’, says France’s interior minister” - and there are similar scenarios as to the article in the dream but in “reverse”.) I see the real image of a wagon wheel in a field (recurring since childhood) which represents the modern Roma flag.

Later, though, I am at a round table outside somewhere. I notice an extraordinarily beautiful darker Roma girl that looks a lot like my wife (with dark hair and almost luminescent green eyes), but is around eighteen or so, and I mostly only see her profile and do not talk directly to her - she seems almost like a “calm and patient” young goddess. She has the exact same name as my wife and even mentions (what sounds like) my oldest son’s first name (which is not Roma but Shawnee). I mention all this to some people at another table (that is farther out from the camp) and later, another “version”(?) of my wife. An unattractively taller Caucasian woman, fairly thin but with overly wide hips and blonde hair actually said the other girl was saying something like “macaw” or “Magoo” (which is odd that she did not know the exact word or name as she had been sitting with her and a couple others and talking with them).

I thank her for explaining the sound of the actual name or word, in a sincere manner, but she takes it as a sort of sarcasm for some unknown reason and walks off in a huff.

(Precognition validation) Article Link: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worl...-minister.html

UPDATE: An additional somewhat precognitive element just appeared, but is not directly related to the date of the article (which was September 27, 2013) that appeared online after the dream and in my news feed on Facebook (referring to the date of April 24-26, 2014 - my father coincidentally had been born on April 26, 1901). Link: http://indiancountrytodaymedianetwor...america-151477

Morning of September 17, 2013. Tuesday.



In real life this morning, there was a strong wind that blew a very large piece of roofing tin from a neighbor’s house onto our roof (and onto the ground a few hours later). The piece was as long as a person. The noise likely influenced my dream.

---

In my dream, I go outside and notice a large box kite on the edge of our roof on the east side of our house (left side when facing the front). This kite is entangled near the middle section. A neighbor from a few houses south of us comes over and expresses his frustration over the incident, as it is his kite. He asks for my help in getting it down, which I eventually manage to do somehow as others, including Zsuzsanna, watch.

The man makes a remark about how he probably should not have been flying his kite because of the heavier wind and its changes of direction though he also comments on how it is usually a good area to fly a kite.

There turns out to be more than the pieces of the broken box kite on the roof. There are also a few small cardboard boxes. In addition, some of the boxes contain small tools and keys. All of the extra items I find had supposedly been inside the kite and also belonged to the man. The main additional items I notice are small silver keys of about the size for a small suitcase. I also notice a few allen wrenches. Most of these smaller items slide around loosely in the boxes that are much larger for the items than necessary. All these small additional items and the cardboard boxes were being flown within the kite as he usually had done (though I am not sure if it was because of absentmindedness on his part or a routine related to some sort of ongoing maintenance of his kite).

The man is thankful for my ability to somehow climb up and get everything down (somehow without a ladder) and most everything is retrieved. There are also other small bits, such as a few older broken screws, possibly from the edge of the roof or rain gutter rather than the kite. The detail is quite realistic at this point even when I focus on it directly.

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Morning of August 23, 2013. Friday.



This dream was remarkable in the vivid imagery it brought to mind during the hypnopompic stage of dream dissolution, regarding a comic book I have not seen in over thirty years. When I wake, I “see stars” with the imagery, as if from a migraine headache hallucination, but without the headache at all - similar to the disturbing effect of looking at an older type of video game or computer game for an hour or more, yet not quite as disorienting.

The main concept was sentient clouds that lived like people in the sky, in some sort of solid or seemingly solid environment way above the Earth. I and the cloud people kind of just lounge around (or as if at a beach) for the most part.

There is a repeating scene where a very large female cloud takes an interest in me and somehow turns me into a cloud for a time, and I live with the “cloud people”. There are parts of my dream where I am flying very fast in great comfort and with a sense of youthful freedom.

Near the end of my dream, there is one apparent giant. Otherwise, even the big clouds are all people-sized when in the “living like humans” phase. The giant is dressed in dark Victorian clothes and reminds me of Winona Ryder (somewhat as she appeared in “Beetlejuice”, one of a fair number of movies I had more precise precognitive perceptions of long before it was made including the unlikely title and unusual makeup and effects). She seems a bit annoyed or perhaps just snobby (some sort of jealousy that a human is there in their domain?). However, she mostly remains in the distance near a normal-sized castle. We are up higher, at a distance, probably at about the level of her neck or slightly below it, on some sort of platform or open floor of a (partial?) building. Another female “cloud” (in human form) - a “sister”(?) is trying to “talk some sense” into her.

As I wake, and even after, for about a minute or two, I see very precise and correct imagery, as if actually seeing it in a perfectly recorded memory sequence - several panels from an old comic book - “Timmy the Timid Ghost” - a knockoff to the Casper of the time, even with a sidekick who wore a derby as Spooky did. Not sure of the exact issue, but it was from a story about “cloud giants” and had similarities to my dream, although I was not really kept against my will for the most part. I do remember how, I think, Timmy was calling out, saying something like “Please Mr. Cloud Giant, let us go home” (or something similar). I think it was actually meant to be a dream in the comic book (or implied it could be either real or a dream - although I think it ended with them seeing odd shapes in the sky after waking, and then running home). I think it started out where they were on the side of a hill guessing the shapes the clouds could be and then somehow shared the same dream. I had it all in my head when I woke. I think the ghosts were mistaken for “cloud people” and were picked on for being so small.

Winona Ryder vaguely reminds me of a young Barbara Steele (depending greatly on the particular image and angle), although does not remind me of my wife as Barbara Steele did at particular times, or perhaps it was just the castle and cloud/mist association relating to the Barbara Steele movies. This is the only dream during this time period where Winona Ryder (or at least the association) was a character.

I would still like to find a copy of the original “Timmy the Timid Ghost” story - as I have found hundreds of other resources relating to my research and confirmations. This was one of those times when (fairly old) “photographic memory” seems to have been activated somehow upon waking for no particular reason (or perhaps linked to the same date in a different year, as I have seen this often). The only Timmy covers (apparently the second series) I remember clearly and presently are #17 (Timmy holding beehive instead of football) and #19 (Manny holding and hiding “thin ice” sign). The story may have been in one of those but I am not certain.

Morning of August 12, 2013. Monday.



This was another unusual recent dream relating to new technological concepts (gadgets this time - from alien technology) which has been more common in the last few years.

It has never been all that common for me to dream directly about aliens themselves (although UFO-type lights in the sky that turn out to be various things - from secret test planes of the government to undiscovered stellar phenomena - before dawn, are rather common and very peaceful and even nostalgic).

This time, the aliens are very passive and otherwise friendly and helpful towards humans. Some of them are nearly twice as tall as humans, but many are only slightly taller than the average person. They have yellowish skin and mostly wear green, white, or blue coveralls. Their facial characteristics are more angular than a human’s, almost canine, but with human-like skin for the most part. They remind me a little of a Marvel comic Skrull, but are never hostile or what I would call ugly in overall appearance.

During this time earlier in my dream of their more open attitude, and very early in the morning in my dream, an alien girl (walking with at least one other female alien companion) asks me to gather a couple items. One of them is a few grams of the Indian mustard plant (petals and leaves) - which will be precisely measured on an otherwise normal looking small plate (but with some sort of very small, attached computerized tool to complete the dividing and measuring work automatically). The other, I think, is a certain amount of Lapis Lazuli. I do the task, enjoying the time of being outside in the early morning in a sparsely wooded area.

Later, she is in human guise for some reason (although I still see her as partly alien at this time, but she is wearing a shorter pink-gray-yellow plaid skirt and to her left is a different alien than the previous companion) and I ask her (she is northeast from me in a larger building - a cafeteria at a local business?) if I can get her breakfast - but she says she has already eaten, an onion ring (at Dairy Queen or some such) and a slice of tomato, I think. She casually says as I am leaving the area…“love you…” in a similar manner as my wife and by which I nod back in confirmation, echoing her words (and I have a very brief thought of wondering why the aliens care so much about certain humans such as myself - I do not think there is any actual romantic connection though I did not feel certain of that at the time). She seems to be sitting at an indoor picnic table or picnic-table-like cafeteria bench (very common meeting place in my dreams for some reason - above and beyond scenarios with people at normal tables or household furniture of any kind) with white marble-design seats and top (metal frame otherwise).

Later on, I seem to be fairly young and am in school, possibly ninth grade, perhaps - as it reminds me of DHS (but also just a little of DMS). A certain subject comes up - the flow of conversation eventually bringing attention to an alien girl to my left; the common, larger alien presence casually mentioned during some sort of open conversation with the whole class, which for some unremembered reason turns to the subject of the aliens being “everywhere” and relationships that people have with both them and with the culturally different. It turns out, however, that no one (except me) seems to remember the friendly relationship held with aliens for about a year or more. The alien looks human to everyone else and the rest of the people in the room have no belief or memory of the year-long experiences they had lived through recently.

It turns out that the aliens - who have no ballistic weapons of any kind (but had been accused of such) - had sorrowfully erased any memory of themselves from the minds of the majority of humans because of violence and myth-building towards them and their ways. What is interesting is that the aliens now are even more active - and in two “forms”. Either they are in human guise (both for protection and stealthily studying humans, which they had not done when visible to everyone - it was only after a growing conflict/misunderstanding on the part of the humans) or are completely invisible to the majority and go about with experiments and important activities relative to natural resources and natural resource testing. The ones who are invisible are the much taller ones. They do work related to engineering and the natural resource testing.

Near the middle section of my dream, I seem to be someone else, and I am with several other people at someone’s home (seemingly a larger second-floor apartment). I show a friend (Steve J, a male classmate from years ago) an alien “toy”. It is first shown as a large book-like object but with three or four three-dimensional rectangular computer screens that seem to be deeper (in visual orientation) than the “book” itself. Eventually, a few items emerge from out of the “book”/manufacturing device - via the “computer screens”, beginning as holographic patterns - then being physically created by some sort of laser “printing” into stacked layers of the eventual solid, completed form. One of the toys is like a white “moon buggy”, but with four legs instead of wheels (similar to the moon walkers that came free in Quisp cereal boxes years ago in the late 60s but much bigger), that moves forward and falls off the edge of the table after twice turning correctly at the corners. I tell a white lie to Steve claiming that it fell because I had not held the remote control towards it, but the truth was that its edge-and-surface-detecting software was malfunctioning. There are also a few robotic white dogs (one with no head) and some other toys that we watch for several minutes, all of them built by the book-like manufacturing device which was given to me (and certain others) by the aliens, and is also one of the few pieces of alien technology that all humans can see. This is why I use it to convince Steve and others that the aliens exist and are also friendly, even though, for the most part, they believe that the device could have been made by humans - at least to a point - until more complex “toys” are “built in mid-air” by laser printing, and then move about.

Eventually, there are medicinal pills available (the containers given only to the select few that can already see all the aliens and their constructs and for them to choose friends or trusted family to give to) that causes the person that takes one to be cured of their mind’s limitations and which prevents the mental “blocking” of the complex electromagnetic fields or some such, enabling them to see all the aliens and alien utilities (as well as their spacecrafts). There are also a group of about five men from the government (relating to some sort of security or science or both). They are in a jovial mood and do not seem a threat to either the aliens or people. They had not yet taken any of the pills at that point. They are all both sitting and standing near the northern end of a large building.

During the last section of my dream, I go to a small alien spacecraft (which looks a lot like an old-fashioned porcelain juicer) that is “parked” near some trees in a clearing to the north. There are a few wider grassy embankments. It is fairly close to the outskirts of an unknown town. The alien is so tall that I am only as tall as one of his legs. He is wearing vertically-striped gray and green coveralls. He has a deep gravelly voice but is very friendly and seemingly simple-minded. He is doing some sort of work with a rather large tree, the branches being cut off, then somehow restored in cycles, with some sort of complex machine being implemented. There is a very loud, rhythmic sound with very strange overtones. It almost sounds like some sort of giant (or greatly amplified) viola performance. I tell the alien about how mankind cut down too many trees (even in reference to the 1994 movie “Rapa Nui”) and the alien seems very puzzled, as if he does not understand that I mean cutting down a lot of trees can mean most trees in a larger area or region. He asks, “How could one man cut down too many trees in his garden?” as it does not make sense to him that a man (or men) can use a larger amount of human resources in their own business or endeavors. The idea of one man being allowed to own more than only a small area of land seems insane to him and beyond his ability to picture - especially relating to human population and needs - I guess he is not one of the aliens that had been studying humans more, but just a worker. He is then going into a procedure that is somehow causing the tree to become whole again for the final cycle. The sound of the machine becomes even more like a viola as I walk back to the south. The various parts of the tree as they are cut and then joined back as a whole, seems to be like an amazing exotic dance.

I walk back to the other men and notice that someone who is seated (seemingly the oldest of the government-based group) is swaying and pretending to play a small violin (“to accompany the viola” it seems) and is also nodding his head and smiling. It seems they had actually heard the noise later on, as Steve had taken my container and given them the medicinal tablets. They also had some glimpses of the spacecraft and one or two glimpses of the tall alien. I ask the men if they were worried now that they knew the truth. The oldest says (quite vividly and fairly loudly but in a very friendly manner), “Oh, I don’t know, he had a very nice voice”.

Curiously, in the majority of my dreams (but certainly not all) aliens are usually friendly and often even passive, even when rather unusual-looking, while humans are often the “bad guys” so to speak.

Night of June 13, 2013. Friday.



I am back in Cubitis where I had not lived or been for many years, although I had seen images of the place on Google Maps fairly recently, with the added highway and such. It seems to be different in the sense of being some sort of school for people who record their dreams on a regular basis, or maybe that is only one purpose of it for one class. The “students” are mostly around sixteen to eighteen, perhaps, some older. I am not sure of my own age.

I go to my locker, which is rather large and somewhat like a metal version of my wife’s real-life wardrobe and in an outside cul-de-sac area that would otherwise have been where my family’s carport originally was (again, in Cubitis) in real life. It is facing south. I open it and the top area has five smaller piles of my dream journals, each stack about three or four high, not all of the same size and with different color and different style covers, some ring-bound, some plain. On the top one in each pile, there is either a large sticker of a lobster (in lighter orange/brown) or, in a couple cases, an actual toy plastic figure. Someone else had done this to my journals, and I am aware that it is some sort of strangely intimate, even sensual act - indicating some form of “kinship” as well. The lobsters seem to be holding small flowers in bunches (red carnations) in at least a few instances.

A little later, I speak with a girl (unknown) who is also going to the “dream journal class”. I have a feeling that she may have been the one to have put at least some of the stickers on the dream journal covers (even though I first got the impression it was a male when first opening the locker, as there were also some handwritten comments on the pages, diagonally, but cannot quite remember them, but most of those seemed like female handwriting). Her boyfriend appears, and there is some sort of odd communication relating to the classes and their timing or where the girl will be at a certain time - something about her getting a ride home as well.

There are some strange made-up “forced” emotions (seemingly made up by me just to make a dramatic scene at one point to perhaps shock myself into being more aware or lucid within the dream, which does work to a point - it works much better in actual sleep paralysis stages, though) in one part relating to the school from real life and how we are “due” to get there or be there in a certain time period. We only have about ten minutes and it is about three miles away to the south - and there is no transport. It is very dark outside and I go into the front yard. I am more lucid and decide to run (to the south) a bit. I notice, as I am running, that the yard is somehow mostly smooth rock everywhere, but with smaller pebbles and grains of dirt in a very sparse pattern. I notice a larger boulder-like structure in the perfect shape of a girl that is lying sort of on her stomach, but slightly on her side and somewhat up almost on “all fours”, but not quite. This is probably related to a recent real-life image and conversation relating to conspiracy theorists seeing human-like or animal-like figures (or alien technology parts) in every rock picture from Mars or the moon. The girl seems to have, for some reason, otter-like aspects or energies. Otters are “playful” but also known for their ability to crack shells/clams and mussels with rocks, actually using a rock as a tool like an early (primitive) human.

For a moment, I have a slight concern in wondering if it is a real girl who may need help, but then the scene changes somewhat.

A younger man more to the east, closer to the house/school is talking about his concerns in getting into town soon enough for the other classes. I tell him that I can just speed or teleport there in no time (although it seems more like I am actually moving there and back, in “reverse” upon returning, very rapidly). I then focus and feel myself fade out, then fade in to where the classes are, and then back to where I was, almost as if I had not even moved much at all. However, I am left wondering what I (my body) looked like just as the process began, especially because I heard the man yell behind me (becoming a blur) “Dude…what the f…?” in seeming amazement (likely the first time I have ever heard the word “dude” in a dream). Not much more happens. There did seem to be positive emotions in the part where I saw the toy lobsters and stickers, yet with a sense of wondering about the public itself and what they were really “up to”.

The last part may actually be a play on a popular gag (from my school days) when someone claims they can do something in a very short amount of time, remain motionless, and then ask “Want to see me do it again?”

UPDATE: Validated several precognitive facets for today, but not all had been written in this entry, so I left the other details out for now that I had not mentioned at all in the entry. The main one was that I was given a bunch of very small, wrapped-up red carnations (exactly as viewed in the dream) “to take home to my wife”. It was one of the women in the IGA store that I had not seen for months. I guess they were just left over or something, but they never did that before in the time I have lived here.