maboroshi

Good morning, everybody. I recall three dreams from "last night" -- although these dreams all come from about the last hour that I was in bed.

Dream #1

I was in "my house," which was a two-floor house. I was in a bedroom on the second floor of the house. The curtains were pulled back. Outside, the sky looked grey and cold.

I may have just moved into this house. I was kind of surprised that I had so much space. I'd never had this much space in my life. Still, the place wasn't huge. It was two floors, but it was rather narrow.

Nevertheless, as I walked down the stairs to the first floor, I thought that people would see a guy like me living in a place like this, and, getting jealous, they'd try to break into my place.

I tried to think of what I could do to prevent a break-in. I thought I would never use anything I owned while sitting near a window on the second floor. That way nobody would ever see that I actually owned anything.

I thought that the only thing I would do on the first floor would be to watch TV, even though I thought that would be dangerous, too. But I figured that everybody owned a TV. So why would anybody want mine, too?

I considered what I would watch on TV. I wondered if I had cable TV. I hadn't owned a TV in quite some tiime. Maybe everybody got cable TV nowadays. Or maybe, I thought, this place was like a hotel. And all hotels had cable TV. I may have considered watching some porn.

Dream #2

I was in a living room of an apartment with a group of friends, none of whom I recognize. The friends were all young, pretty cool. The living room was a little dim, as if it were lit only from a light in the hallway, around a corner.

I sat on the floor before a coffee table that was set against the wall. A stereo stood on the coffee table. Cluttered before the stereo were huge binders full of lists of karaoke songs.

I had one book open and was flipping through the pages, trying to find a particular song. But the book was full of pictures instead of titles. Each page may have had two or three CD-sized pictures on each side. One picture I remember of a person (man?) standing over a dark landscape under a purple sky.

There were so few pictures per page and so few pages in this book, that I thought the chances were slim of my song being in this book. And I couldn't figure out how the songs were arranged: not in alphabetical order, but in some kind of picture order -- if they were, in fact, in any order at all.

I concluded that my song wasn't in this particular book. Somebody may have taken the book from me. I shuffled through some of the other books. I may now not even have been able to remember what song I wanted to sing.

The covers of the binders were all really awesome. They had all kinds of flaming designs of people,guitars, and monsters. Each binder held song lists for a specific genre of music, and the picture on the front represented the genre. Sometimes the picture actually had the name of the genre written above it in fancy lettering.

I finally chose a certain binder, figuring this was the genre of music I wanted to sing, so that the song I'd been looking for all along would probably be in this binder.

Dream #3

I was at "my house," an apartment on the upper floor of a big building. The apartment probably had a living room and two or three bedrooms.

The apartment was busy with a few other people, probably all older than me, some of them somewhat older. There weren't a lot of people in the apartment, but the craziness of their actions made it feel like the place was stuffed with people. The living room was bright, frenetic, and totally messy.

The apartment was all mine, but the people who were here right now were trying to move in and stay here. For some reason, I really wasn't doing much about it.

Just off from the living room was a small, bright hallway. At the end of the hallway was a little niche, in which was set a white, wood chest of drawers. The chest was a little more than a meter tall, and maybe 2/3 of a meter wide.

Some old, short, fat, white man with a balding head, scraggly, grey hair, and a loose, stubbly face, had one of the drawers open and was crowding me away from it. I was fighting the man, trying to get him out of my stuff. This was my chest, and the man had no right messing around with it.

But the man kept shoving me off. He was pouring stuff into the top drawer from out of a garbage bag. The old man himself may have been wearing a weird outfit that looked like a mix between a potato sack, long underwear, a mattress, and a garbage bag.

I looked into the drawer. It looked like there were a bunch of small, empty,glass vials inside. It looked like vials that had once held drugs. I got really mad. Was this guy pouring garbage bags full of drugs and drug paraphernalia all over my house?

Good morning, everybody. My dream recall has been terrible over the past couple days. It's probably because I've spent hours each night watching all the different versions of RC Succession's Transistor Radio on YouTube. Hitto kyoku!

So these entries will be pretty fragmented.

Dream #1

I was watching a scene like a theatre production or a large-scale movie as if I were actually in the environment without participating in it.

The scene focused on a woman who stood atop an enormous, colorful temple, which was somehow inside a much larger building. The temple was as colorful as a Buddhist or Hindu painting. It was decorated to the last inch with beautiful flowers in plates and vases. There may even have been colorful foods decorating the tables.

The woman walked out of a room at the top of the temple, turned right, then sat on her knees on a cushion, facing the wall to the left (her left) of the doorway. (The doorway and the top room looked more like in a Mayan temple, not a Hindu or Buddhist painting.) My view was from behind, above, and just to the left of the woman.

The woman didn't look normal. She was probably a dark blue. She probably didn't have a complete form. Her body may have had a stony look, like Jack Kirby's version of the Fantastic Four's The Thing, except with a feminine figure. She may also have had chakra markings delineated on her somehow.

The woman was breaking some kind of law or rule by meditating. Apparently meditation was forbidden. So now there was a group of high officials heading out to capture and arrest the woman. But there was also a group of men who had taken it upon themselves to protect the woman. She was a hero to them, possibly because her meditation had some kind of power.

I was now among the group of men, acting as a part of the group, not just watching. The men looked big and tough. One of them may have looked like Russell Crowe.

We stood at the bottom of the temple, before a beige-colored stone gate. But it also felt like we were standing in a messy living room.

I was happy to be helping the men. But I was also afraid. I was afraid of getting hurt by the officials. But I was also afraid of looking stupid with my usual clumsy actions. I may have said something regarding all this. The man who looked like Russell Crowe may have looked at me in disgust.

Dream #2

I was in my great-grandmother's living room. The room was filled with dim, yellowy light. The floors were strewn with sheets and blankets.

I was with a few other people, possibly co-workers. We had just finished some task. Now we had to go to another task. But we had to change our clothes first. We were all running around to different rooms, as if playing a game, looking for the new clothes to wear.

I was in my great-grandma's guest room (which us kids would sleep in when we'd spend nights at her house). I was taking off my pants or putting new pants on when I noticed that C, a guy from my work, was in the living room. I could see him from the bedroom because the walls now, apparently, only went up to about my waist.

I thought C was going to accuse me of not doing any work because I was in the middle of changing my pants. I thought I would explain to him that changing my pants was actually a part of my job.

But suddenly a cat with a black body and white belly and paws jumped down through the circle my arms were making with the pants. C was amazed by what the cat had done. I was amazed, too. It seemed so random that the cat would jump down through my arms like they were a hoop.

Either I or C may have wondered if the cat had been trained to do that.

Dream #3

I was out on a street corner across the street from "my apartment building." It actually looked like the street corner at the beginning of Youth without Youth, except with really wide streets, as if the streets were somehow an entire horizon.

There were a lot of young men and women out on the street with me. They were all beautiful and well-dressed.

I had thought that this might have been a bad time for me to go out and do whatever it was I needed to do. Either it had been too early or the sky had been too dark due to clouds or else the clouds in the sky had been presaging a storm.

But now I looked up into the sky to watch it clear smoothly into wispy, white clouds. I was amazed. But I also had that inconvenienced feeling, like when you realize that you now have to do something for sure, no excuses. I thought that if everybody knew how lazy I was about getting moving, they'd dislike me.

I was about to cross the street with everybody else. But the sky suddenly clouded over heavily. It looked worse than rain: it looked like a terriible storm.

I crossed the street back toward my house instead of heading in everybody else's direction (which would have been crossing to the corner caddy-corner from my house). It was already beginning to rain.

I thought something like how lucky I was to be so close to my place, especially because I hadn't brought an umbrella with me. My building was a beautiful, peach-colored, stone building.

I remembered that there was a woman who lived in my apartment with me. I knew she was planning to go outside for something she had to do. I thought I would warn her not to come out. The sky was almost black. It looked like the storm would be terrible.

But I knew the woman would go out anyway to do her thing. I may have thought that I would at least offer her my umbrella.

Good morning, everybody. I was exhausted last night, and I slept a lot. But I only remember one dream, which I know happened way early, some time before 11 PM.

Dream #1

I was in a big lobby area like the front area of an airport: a long, wide, busy hallway full of counters and with tall ceilings. The walls were light brown or grey stone, and the floors may have been concrete. The light was fluorescent, but gentle, not glaring or depressing.

I was walking toward a set of sliding glass doors at the far left end of the lobby. I ran into a couple of people from my job. Then I ran into a few people from my job who had a few people from my old job with them.

I greeted the people from my old and new jobs happily. I was especially pleased to see the people from my old job. They were just walking into the lobby, so I decided to turn around and walk a ways with them.

I had come to understand that the people from my old job were coming to work at my new job. I was excited about this. I kept trying to tell the people from my old job something about the new place. But I couldn't seem to remember anything specific about my job. All my memories were very fuzzy.

I may now have been walking to "my desk" at "my office." My cubicle was off along the right wall, all by itelf. On the left wall, maybe 15 feet away from me, was another lone cubicle, where my co-worker S sat. Everybody else who worked here apparently sat in office rooms.

But I don't know how many people still worked there. It seemed like a good deal of people had quit.

I may have walked (backwards?) past the office of a person who I called by the name D, like the name of the person D who actually works in my office. He was standing in the doorway. He didn't look anything like D. In fact he looked like some kind of office-person mix between a scrunchy-headed puppet and that plastic-faced Burger King guy.

I was now sitting in my cubicle. The lights had gone out in the office. First about half the lights had gone out, making the place dim grey. But now almost all the lights had gone out, so that it was almost pitch black. I may have thought that this was because so many people had quit. It definitely felt like there weren't any people in the offices.

S, still sitting in her cubicle, mentioned something that was happening, like a group of clients who were coming in for a meeting. I had either had no idea about this or I had completely forgotten. I felt kind of dumb that S knew or remembered while I hadn't.

I may have seen the name of the person coming in to visit, as if I was looking at it on a piece of paper in the dim light. The name may have looked very old and Italian, a very stately name, but distorted, something like Sangiovese or Sangioviese. I may have wondered if I'd be able to help this client out.

(Good morning, everybody. This is a really long entry. Sorry.

I remember three dreams from last night. The first two dreams happened sometime between midnight and 5 AM. The third dream was between about 5:30 AM and 7 AM.

I became lucid in the third dream, and sustained my lucidity for quite a while. But I think it was mainly because I “conserved my energy” and didn’t really try anything out of my normal range of dream-activity.)

Dream #1

I was coming back to “my apartment.” I was walking through a building that itself was as big as a small neighborhood. I walked through one area, a huge room with tall ceilings and wood walls.

As I walked through the area, I went past a young man and woman who were possibly standing outside the door to the woman’s apartment. The door may have been pale blue.

The woman was very pretty, with copper-colored skin and long, straight, black hair. The man was handsome, white, tall, with blonde hair about down to his shoulders. He wore a grey, wool cap and some winter clothes.

The man was telling the woman that he would make sure her move went smoothly. She was apparently moving to another place, and she was nervous about it. I gathered, from the man’s speech to the woman, that the man would make sure she didn’t experience the same harassment she’d experienced at her present apartment.

But as I was walking past the couple (I didn’t actually get very close to them, and I had to exit via another door into another room in order to get to “my building”), the man and woman expressed some kind of concern that I was going to get them in trouble. It was as if, as well as the woman experiencing harassment from some group of people, the man and the woman had themselves been accused of causing trouble in their neighborhood. They thought I was the kind of person who would get them in trouble again.

I walked softly and quickly through the door, trying my best to give an impression to the man and woman that I was nice, that I wouldn’t harass the woman, and that I wouldn’t get the man and woman in trouble – in other words, that I would just mind my own business.

I walked into the next area, which was like a mix between some completely forgotten room or corridor in an enormous mansion and a back alley. A light shone from high above, and at the heights of the room, it was dark as night, though it was light enough near the floor. The walls were wood, and the floor had a pale, blue-grey carpeting. But there was junk everywhere, like tattered cardboard boxes, wadded up pieces of wrapping plastic, and other garbage. There seemed to be turns and staircases here and there, leading up to other “apartment buildings.”

I walked toward my building, which didn’t even have a front door, just a staircase leading up to a winding ramp into darkness. My landlord, an older, black man or woman, stood at the top of or on one of the curves in the ramp. He/she apparently knew I was coming home, so he/she was waiting to welcome me back. I may have been away for a few days, doing something like visiting my family.

I didn’t realize, but the young man had followed me all the way here. My “building,” it turned out, was the building that the young woman would be staying in. I thought that for sure the man would now be panicked. He and the woman had been so afraid to begin with that I would get them in trouble. And now it looked like I had “reverse followed” him all the way to the woman’s new residence.

I tried to act natural and cool, to make the man understand I wasn’t going to do anything mean to him or the woman. I spoke a little bit with the landlord, in a kind of easy, happy tone. I then said I was going to head on in to my room and get a little rest.

As I headed toward my room, through a door along a dim balcony facing at an odd angle to the ramps and the long alley-corridor, I heard the landlord now speaking with the young man. I thought, Why not prove that I’m a good guy, and let the young man see inside my room? Once he sees how lived-in my place is, he’ll know I’ve been here a few years, I’m a decent guy, and that I won’t do anything rude or mean to the woman or him?

So I called attention to the landlord and the young man. I had them come over to my room. I opened the door to my room. The room was humongous and dim. But I could tell, just by glancing inside, that the room was a complete mess – a disaster! Plus, the place just let out a horrendous smell, like tons and tons of socks that hadn’t been washed for months!

I quickly closed the door and told the landlord and young man nevermind, that I must have forgotten what I wanted to tell them. They walked away, kind of disappeared.

I suddenly felt suspicious of the young man. I felt that, now that he’d seen even just a little into my room, and he’d seen where I live, that he’d try to break into my room. I closed my door. I walked slowly away, as if I was trying to put on some kind of show that I didn’t really live in this apartment.

I suddenly recognized that, just beyond my door, the wall to my room only went up to about the middle of my chest. You could see inside the room just by standing out on the balcony. I looked inside, hoping that nothing of value would be easily spotted, prompting the young man to break into my house and steal things.

All I could see, though, anywhere, was a bunch of clutter and garbage. I felt like there was no way I could have left my place this way when I’d left. Had I been that neglectful of things? Or had I been gone so long that my place just kind of dissolved into these shambles of itself?

I walked around the corner of the balcony, now facing some dim corner of the alley-corridor directly, but still having a good view into my room.

Down below, in my room, I saw a huge, pale-blue, L-shaped couch. It was completely torn up. The stuffing of the couch was bloating out of the cushions, and a black, metal frame jutted out the edges.

Suddenly, my mother burst out from the inside of the couch. She scrambled out of the couch cushions. She then rabidly twitched and scratched against the couch, tearing it even more to pieces. She looked terrible, like she’d become some kind of wild animal.

I was terrified by this. But I quickly became indignant. Who had allowed my mother into my apartment? I ran down the balcony to find someone to complain to.

I ended up on some dark hilltop, under a small tree. It was pitch black night, but I could see, as if a car from somewhere were shining its lights on the scene. There were a few people wandering around, possibly Hispanic.

I found my father, who was almost cartoonishly wide. He was also dressed somewhat like a clown, in red clothes with pink and orange polka-dots. He may even have worn a clown-nose.

I yelled at my dad, “Why did you let my mom into my apartment?”

My dad gave me some kind of excuse that sounded half-hearted but official, so that I couldn’t really argue against it.

Dream #2

I was in a subway station, waiting for the train to come. I was in a far-off, unfamiliar neighborhood, and I had been doing some kind of activity that made me tired and ready to go back somewhere familiar.

The subway station was more like the lobby for a building like a hospital. I sat at a table in an area that looked like a makeshift café. The serving counter may have been in a small room, off to my right. Behind me, there may have been the main lobby area, large and bright, with a lot of sunlight flowing through the window-walls.

To my left was a wide doorway, through which I could see one subway platform. Through a kind of dim, plasticky window at the opposite end of the room and in front of me, I could see another subway platform.

I pulled out a book, crossed my legs, slumped in my chair, and started reading. A couple of teenage boys sat down a couple of tables away from me. They were making jokes with each other, pretty relaxed. They seemed cool. But for some reason, I didn’t want them to notice me. I thought they might start trouble.

Suddenly I could see, from some kind of reflection, that the train on the platform to my left was coming. It seemed to be coming without warning and very quickly. In a rush, the boys and I stood up from our tables and ran to the platform.

But I didn’t want the boys to know I got on this train. I felt that if they knew this about me they could hurt me somehow. So I tried to act like I wasn’t getting onto this train.

But when I got out to the platform (which was huge, wide, with tall ceilings, nothing like in NYC), the train wasn’t there. I heard the rushing of a train to my left. I looked and saw, down the platform, and up at the top of a tall staircase, a different train arriving at another platform. Was it just that train I’d heard? But I could have sworn I’d seen the train arrive on this platform, as well as heard it.

I looked down into the well for the train and tracks for my platform – and was terribly shocked! Instead of tracks, the floor was completely empty, trackless, and painted a bright yellow. There were no tracks! No train could ever have arrived here! But I was sure this was where the train was supposed to be – where I had actually seen it arrive!

I felt terribly foggy all of the sudden, as if I had fallen into a different world.

I heard the train on the second platform, off to my right, arriving. I thought I’d take that train. But I knew it wouldn’t get me anywhere close to where I wanted to go. I knew I’d just have to take this train, at this platform, whenever it came, no matter how long it took.

So I went back into the café area to go back to reading my book.

Dream #3

I was in my great-grandmother’s house. I had apparently been there for a long time. The place looked nothing like it had looked while my great-grandmother was alive: it was dim, grey-blue, and strewn garbage, household items, and even streams of toilet paper.

I walked around in the kitchen and dining room, possibly picking up and eating and drinking pieces of food and drink that had been left out for a long time on dirty plates and in dirty, grimy cups. There may also have been dirty, rusty knives, or something like that, somewhere.

I walked back into the living room. I felt like I had isolated myself in my great-grandmother’s house for so long. It had been days. Here I’d been, back home all this time, and I hadn’t visited my mother once!

I thought I’d give her a call and let her know I was at my great-grandma’s house, and that she could come visit me or maybe even pick me up so we could go somewhere to visit with each other. But I hesitated – I now felt so guilty having neglected my mother for all these days, that I knew just calling her would cause me a lot of heart-breaking pain.

I was suddenly in “my bedroom” at “my house.” The room was clean, a little barren. Nice sunlight flowed in through the window. It was cheerful enough. But it felt somehow lonely – not just lonely, but sterile, padded.

Something about this feeling made me realize I was dreaming. I realized I was now lucid. I told myself to keep calm and just go exploring this place as if it were a real environment.

(Oddly enough, when I became lucid, I may have “transformed” into a tallish, white, young man with tanned skin, blue eyes, and short-shaved, blonde hair. I have no idea why.)

I walked out of the bedroom and into “my living room.” I was in a suburban house. The house looked small and nice. But it was completely empty. It had thick, brown carpet.

I walked very slowly, to keep my emotions calm. I was heading for the front door. This was a kind of challenge for me, and I knew (even in my dream-state), that I had to keep calm in order to do this. I knew, I remembered (the truth, not a false memory – I mean, insofar as etc., etc.) that when I’d become lucid indoors in the past, my lucidity would end as soon as I walked outside, as if I hadn’t believed my imagination could “create” an outdoor space.

I got to the door. It had a strange bolt-lock on it, which I thought was kind of over-doing things. I worked the lock out and pulled open the door.

It was a bright, sunshiny day in a suburban neighborhood. I told myself to remain calm, remember this was all a dream, and just explore the place like it was a real environment.

My front yard was a tangle of flowery vegetation and rough, dark shrubs. There was a driveway off to my right, with a big, brown, 1970s-style car.

A blonde man, very tan, with a long tangle of hair and beard, was messing around near “my car.” He looked crazy, and I was afraid of him. But I was also pissed that he was messing around my car. So I yelled at him, “Hey! Hey! What are you doing?”

The crazy man hunched up (he never really stood) and turned toward me. He shouted and growled and barked all kinds of weird things at me and started rambling toward me violently. For some reason, he was holding a Panini and a paper plate in his hands, as if he had been eating a Panini when he’d seen my car and decided to vandalize it or rip it off.

It seemed as if the crazy man were going to try to invade my home. So I yelled at him, “Don’t you come near!”

The neighbor from the house to my left, an Asian man, in his late 30s or early 40s, wearing glasses, a pink-red polo shirt, and khaki shorts, walked out of his house and into my yard. He’d heard the commotion and was coming to help me.

I yelled again at the crazy man to back off and not to come anywhere near my home. But I also tried to make it seem to my neighbor like I had the situation under control. I felt like this crazy man was somehow important to whatever I was supposed to learn from this lucid dream. So I had to keep him at a distance without scaring him away entirely. I also wanted to make sure my neighbor didn’t scare away the crazy man.

Off to my right, in my garden, I saw a strange plant that looked like a Cleome topped with a cabbage. The cabbage was pink and white, like Cleome flowers.

Somehow, either my yelling my neighbor’s yelling had finally scared away the crazy man. He ran off. I, and possibly my neighbor, ran after him.

He ran down toward a chain link fence that ran along the crest of a kind of tall, kind of steep, cliff-like hill. I was calling to the crazy man to stop. I wasn’t trying to do him harm. But my neighbor was running faster than me, and he was chasing the crazy man quite violently.

The crazy man found a bent-up part of chain-link fence and crawled under it. I followed. I saw the crazy man run down the steep, brown hill-face, jumping into a shallow, muddy river or creek at the bottom.

My neighbor was still ahead of me, intent on capturing the crazy man. But once the crazy man was in the water, he did something to himself so that my neighbor could no longer see him. He had changed his wild, blonde hair into a weird, pink, green, and white, spiky flower style, looking like a hairdo-mix of a Cleome and a lotus. He ducked down low in the creek so that only his head was above water.

But I could still see that it was the crazy man. I wondered why my neighbor couldn’t. Nothing was different about the crazy man’s face: it was just his hair that looked like a lotus floating on the water.

I could see that the crazy man was drifting toward a group of copper-skinned, black haired children who were playing and splashing about near the creek’s banks. I thought that it might be a good idea to get the crazy man away from the children. He had gone over to them to blend in with them until we left. But I had a feeling that if he suddenly went crazy again, he could hurt the kids.

But now the crazy man and my neighbor were gone. I stood in some rocky area, looking down to the kids playing in the creek. At some point I looked over to my right and saw that there was a subway station, just jutting in a platform out of the hill, as if it were half-finished, forgotten. But it also looked new, clean, modern, even futuristic. And it was functional.

I saw some kids, maybe pre-teen or teenage, playing around near the platform, waiting for the train. I was up near the top of the hill now (which, instead of being muddy or earthy, was now rocky). I was at a pretty level view with the platform and with the kids. I hoped they wouldn’t notice me, because I didn’t want them to start trouble with me.

My emotions got so unstable that I felt my lucidity fading away.

But instead of the dream continuing, not lucid, everything blacked out. I told myself, you’re losing your lucidity. You’re waking up altogether. Go back to being in the dream, and being lucid.

So now I was back in the dream, lucid. I lay, stomach down, over some ledge of rock, looking down to some of the kids playing in the creek. They may have been a boy and a girl. They noticed me and started handing me toys to play with with them. One of the toys was a plastic horse.

I played around with the horse a little bit, then handed it back to the kids, who went back into the water.

I walked into the subway station. Inside, it seemed like it had become night. The station was lit gently with a kind of street-quality, greenish, fluorescent flood-lamp. The walls were a brownish stone, and the floors were some kind of granite-like grey. There was a downward staircase in the center of the lobby-area, and there were a few different corridors leading off from the main lobby-area.

I walked down one of the corridors off to my right. I heard a bunch of teenage kids who sounded like they were joking and having a good time. I decided that I should probably talk with the kids instead of being nervous and shy around them. This was a dream, and I was here to explore whatever I ran into.

So I saw the kids. They were a group of white boys and girls, dressed in kind of loose baggy sweaters and wool caps. They were making a bunch of jokes which struck me as intelligent and funny. I thought I’d talk to them. But they really didn’t pay any attention to me. So, rather than trying to hard to get their attention and getting hostile attention, I walked down another corridor.

But now I heard somebody calling for me. I wound around through the corridors, back to the area where the kids had been. It had definitely sounded like one of the boys, calling me back to be part of the group.

But when I got back to the area – something like a lobby, with a long, wooden counter at the front of the room, and a tall, nice painting on the cinder-block wall to my left – there were no kids, only two women. The women were both naked. They walked toward me, side by side.

The woman on the right was very tall, maybe a foot taller than I (or “I” in the dream). She was naked, but she wore a dark-blue plume of feathers as a headdress and a spray of dark blue feathers around her waist and back. She looked like a burlesque performer.

The woman on the left was still taller than I, maybe by an inch or two. She was pale, with long, curly, light-red hair. The women were both offering themselves to me for sex. I chose the shorter woman.

The woman stood right in front of me, almost to the point of pressing up to me. I asked her a question, and she replied. Satisfied, I began kissing her body.

We had sex in two or three different positions. But in one position I realized I was just doing a terrible job, and that I must just be making a weird situation for the woman, even though she did at least appear to be having fun. Regardless, I got so ashamed of what I perceived as being my stupid clumsiness that I woke up.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was a young, white boy, maybe in high school. I had a mustache, and, instead of shaving it off I would try to trim it down to size. But each time I thought I had it right, I would somehow, while going about my usual business, realize I had a few really long hairs in my mustache.

At one point, possibly while in school, talking with a male classmate, I suddenly realized I had a few long hairs in my mustache. In panic, I ran down a long hallway to a bathroom to get the hairs off my face.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I was short, skinny, with fair skin, and greenish eyes. I had shaggy, red-brown hair, and I wore a blue sweater.

I put my face really close to the mirror. I noticed that my "mustache" was just a few stray hairs above my lip, some of which were very long. I trimmed some of the long hairs. But I thought, in a panic, that this still wasn't enough. Why didn't I shave my mustache off altogether?

Dream #2

I walked away from talking with a male friend of mine. I walked through a city street of cobblestones and nice, old buildings about four or five stories high. It was daytime, clear, and sunny. The streets were almost completely empty.

Looking back over my right shoulder, I saw a young, black man in casual clothes walking down the street. I must have looked forward again. I may have been looking for one of my friends, as if I were meeting him somewhere.

I looked behind my right shoulder again. I saw a black man, maybe 10 or so years older than I, walk into what looked like a bar on the corner of the street. The man looked like one of my old friends, M. I hadn't seen him in such a long time, and he is such a great person. So I thought I'd run after him and say hi.

The place was a cafe rather than a bar. It was kind of narrow, and crowded with people. But it was full of a warm cheerfulness, as if everybody were happy to be out of the cold (even though I don't remember it having been very cold outside). The light was warm but and pale, as if the walls were painted a pale yellow.

I saw the man. But as I got closer and closer, he looked less and less like my old friend. Nevertheless, I still patted his shoulder to get his attention. I was about to say, "Hey, M!" But now I saw for sure that it was not M. I said, "Oh --sorry."

I was about to walk away, possibly toward a table. But the man stopped me. He asked me, "Did you want to say something? Why did you need to get my attention?"

I didn't want to tell the man I'd thought he was my old friend M. I thought that would make me look like an ignorant jerk.

I looked a little more at the man. He had dark skin, a round face, a little bit of grey and black stubble, and short dreads. He wore a pale blue and white striped button up shirt, dark, cuffed blue jeans, and sandals. He also wore a weird, metallic necklace with a huge dragon with open wings.

I thought I'd tell the man I thought his necklace was cool. But I didn't say anything.

The man told me that he made jewelry. He showed me a pair of silver earrings that looked really cool. The man then explained that he sold jewelry at this cafe, and that he came by every now and then to check on his sales.

The man walked me over to a wooden counter atop which were a few rotating displays of the man's earrings. The earrings were mainly long, narrow, and silver, with stones set into the ends or in the middles. I may have seen the man's name or the earring line's design name. The name started with "Bh."

Dream #3

I was in a big movie theatre. The theatre was dim and mostly empty. The theatre seemed huge, much larger than a normal theatre. The screen was high up on the wall. I sat in the front row.

I was here to see a Frederick Wiseman documentary, but I couldn't remember which one. I thought it had to do with kids in a tough situation.

A film now appeared on the screen (though, somehow, the screen appeared partly blocked by a tall potted plant or some pipes or wires or something).

The screen showed two boys, maybe about 8 and 10 years old. They were sitting in one of the front rows of the balcony of a theatre. The older boy was sharing popcorn with the younger boy, who wore huge glasses. The younger boy leaned his head against the older boy's shoulder.

Some young boy, about the age of the boys on screen, called from behind me, "Oh, Wiseman does this kind of thing all the time." I agreed with the boy's critique, although I didn't think it was a bad thing, just characteristic of Wiseman's style.

I wondered what the heck this documentary was about. I wondered if it was in fact a preview for the documentary I had actually come to see. I had come to see a film about kids in a tough situation. But here were these kids in a theatre. I thought that maybe the kids were in some kind of acting school for kids in a tough situation. But these kids looked like they were from a comfortable, if not rich, family.

I realized this documentary was about some kind of elite acting school. The second scene showed the parents as they were dropping their students off at the school. The parents all sat in a fluorescent-lit room. The room of folding-chairs was about half- occupied with parents.

The camera panned from the left to the right of the room, from the front, almost as if behind a pane of glass, as if from another room. But you could see (from what I could see behind the stuff partly blocking the screen) that a lot of these parents were themselves celebrities.

At one point, Shelley Duvall, in an Annie Hall like suit, was complaining about the way one of her kids was being treated at the school. Everybody in the audience (my audience) laughed at Shelley Duvall's speech, as if her ideas and mannerisms were so characteristic of her.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in the backseat of a car full of people, probably women ranging from my age down to about 13. The driver may have been one of the girls' mothers, and she may have acted as a mother-figure for me as well.

I think I was going to an airport. But since I had a little time before I had to catch my flight, I was going to walk through the cemetery first.

A couple of girls had gotten out of the car to let me out. The car was a big, wide, 1970s-style sedan, probably pale beige colored. We stood in a dusty parking lot that felt like it was in the middle of a construction area, like for a small business park that was just being constructed.

I was now in a tall mansion, up in a room on the second or third floor, reading. I sat in a big, heavy wood chair at a big, heavy table made of dark wood. The room was small, crammed full of all kinds of books. The floors were probably some kind of dark wood. A decent amount of daylight came in through a window.

I looked up to see that one of the women (whom I recognize as a woman who works at a bookstore I frequent in waking life) was sitting across the table from me, reading. I was surprised that she had come to read as well.

Now a couple other girls bustled into the room. They said it was time for me to go to the airport. We left the room. We walked down a tight, steep stairwell.

I kept trying to ask the woman what book she had been reading. But the other women kept dissuading me, as if we didn't have time for me to ask such a question.

We were now outside the mansion, walking down a tight, narrow, stone staircase that ran from the porch, down a steep hill of lawn and past a tall stone wall, down to the curb where our car was.

As we descended beyond the stone wall, we passed a few cluttery stacks of old-looking books. I may have heard the woman who had been reading with me telling me (through telepathy?) things about the book she had been reading. Either she or I had been reading a book having something to do with Irish culture, possibly the Celtic aspect of it.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a bedroom which may have been my bedroom with a pretty woman. The room was warmly lit and it seemed to have pink coloring in certain parts. The woman wore a white tank top with pink straps.

The woman sat on the floor, explaining how she was new to this town and how she needed certain things. These things weren't necessities but were rather like items for fun. Maybe they were tickets to shows, or something like that.

She might have been planning to sell the tickets once she got them. Her plan might possibly also have included befriending men to get them to gibe her these tickets for free on a regular basis, then turning around and selling the tickets above face value.

I was now walking through a pine forest. The forest seemed clean, too clean, almost like a stage forest. The trees were tall and deep jade-green. The forest was shady.

Somehow I discovered something about the branches of the pine trees. It was like they were all dripping a clear, sugary syrup.

I was somewhere, possibly back in the room, trying to explain to the woman that she didn't need all the stuff she thought she needed. The trees produced food, and that could sustain her. But the woman wouldn't listen to me. I wasn't talking about the same thing as she was talking about. She didn't want only sustenance. I tried again to explain to the woman what was going on with the trees, what they were producing.

I was in the forest again, floating up through the trees. Beyond the trees was a tree-like structure in the sky, all made out of the clear, sugary syrup. The syrup was solid enough to form a lattice-like structue. I saw a couple of "my friends" (both male or one male and one female) sitting on a couple of seat-like parts on either side of this tree.

As I approached the tree the syrup became like drops, raining down on me. I opened my mouth to try and catch the drops.

Dream #2

I was in a room that looked like a room in a house that had been converted into an office. The place was very cluttered with paper and old office equipment. There were desks for at least two workers.

I had possibly done something dumb at my job. I was listening to a voice message from "my CEO" (!) about what a bad job I'd done. The CEO's voice was mellow and rambling, but a little bitter. I got up from my desk and walked away.

I came back. The voice message was still going. The guy who sat in the desk next to me -- a bunch of old, unused office equipment served as the partition between us -- told me, "Man, you're in trouble. This guy's saying a lot of bad stuff about you. I think he's gonna try to make you stop working here."

I thought that could be true. The CEO could be trying to make it look like I was trying to quit my job and go work somewhere else. Then he could fire me for that. But I didn't care. I just kept listening to his strange mellow, rambling, bitter voicemail.

Eventually the voicemail became something about how everybody in the office was quitting. The voicemail then became something like an online news show about everybody in my office quitting.

I walked out of this room and into another room. I was apparently in the basement of this house. The place was cluttered with household items and office items. In one big room, a bunch of workers were gathered around on a couch, eating pizza and watching TV.

I went into another room. Some tall, thin, pale, white man with a thin beard and wearing a casual sweater and slacks, told me about a number of people who were quitting. This apparently included the CEO.

The man and I walked through a hallway with another man, talking about how unfortunate it was that everybody was quitting. We were now in a kitchenette near the stairs up to the ground floor of this house.

The two men, who were gentle and easygoing, opened the fridge and started pulling out pizza. At this point, I may have seen from the viewpoint of a child. I thought that I was hungry, too, and that I would also like to have some pizza. But I also felt bad for wanting pizza, as if I'd eaten too much already.

Good morning, everybody. I remember two dreams from last night. The second dream occurred in a 15-minute space between my waking up to check the time and my actually getting out of bed.

Dream #1

I was in a forest or a park. It was a clear, autumn day. I stood with a small group of people who were probably around my age. We were hiding or just standing behind a tall tree like a poplar but with really ropy bark.

In a leaf-strewn clearing just beyond the tree, a woman was interviewing "the famous artist" Dylan Reed. He was either a poet or a punk rock singer. But he was generally known as a kind of rebel genius.

The interviewer started asking the man a series of questions based on something I had told her about a friend of mine who was also known as kind of a wild guy. The friend may have been among the group of people standing with me behind the tree.

I felt embarrassed that the interviewer was posing all these questions in such a way that they were obviously about my friend and they were obviously made to guve the impression that I thought badly about my friend. And, worst of all, they were posed directly to "the famous artist" Dylan Reed, of whom I thought so much!

The scene of the interview seemed to change from being in the forest or park to being in some kind of department store, possibly near the perfume section. The interview was now over, and the woman had walked away.

One or two friends and I were now trying to meet Dylan Reed, who was still milling around, all by himself. He seemed to be a tall, good-looking, white man, somewhat well dressed, with hair about down to his jawline. The perfume area was now something like an area displaying things like small luggage and bookbags.

Dylan Reed and my wild friend were something like the same person. My friends and I got a chance to speak with him. While my friends, in particular a pretty female friend, were speaking with Dylan Reed, I was thinking to myself how to make him understand that I didn't think about him in such a critical way as the interviewer had made it sound.
I may have been staring at a very nice, navy blue book bag up on a glass shelf. I may have seen it from a low angle, a child's point of view.

Dream #2

I walked through a very nice lobby like in a museum or a very big library. There were stone columns and walls, marble floors, and wide, curving staircases. A dim light flowed in from high windows. Some walls or portions of walls may also have been wooden.

I was particularly interested in a set of columns that looked "Egyptian," with very ornate, almost wood-like, carvings of fruit and tree-textures.

I was either walking with or meeting up with a woman about my age, possibly my old friend P. She told me, "I've been around this place since the mid-70s. So I've seen it really develop and change through the whole remodeling process." I was pretty impressed.

Good morning, everybody. I had no dream recall over the weekend. But I recall three dreams from last nignt.

Dream #1

I had been looking through a series of photos, possibly with my mother and an unidentified male. The photos were either of people who had some kind of congenital deformation or who had been tortured and mutilated. A lot of the victims in the photos had bloody eyes.

My mother asked me if I wanted to see the last photo, which was apparently the worst. I tried to see it, but it was now like I had to walk through a series of white bedsheets just to get to the photo.

I had an image in my head of a young, white man with lightly tanned skin and long, curly, blonde hair. I told myself, He's gotten so deformed, he's even growing fingers out of his head.

I was afraid to see the photo. But I may finally have seen it. The man had bloody eyes, just like the people in all the other photos.

Dream #2

I was in a dark room that was like a bedroom but was also like some kind of big, back room that might be used for storage in a shop or theatre. I was floating around, possibly disembodied, possibly only a couple feet off the ground.

I was imagining or remembering a conversation I'd had with an Asian man who had just auditioned for a rock band I was starting up. Apparently there were a lot of similar auditions going on. I had asked the man if he had made any plans to be in any of the other bands, as if to say that being in my band would be his second or third choice. By this, I seemed to imply that he would really only be my second or third choice.

The man had replied that this band was the only band he was interested in joining. I was disappointed. But I also felt bad for making the man feel like he was only my second or third choice. I probablly decided, while floating around, disembodied, in this dim room, that I would have this man in my band. I may have felt at this time that the man was in a dark bedroom off to the side of this room.

I may have floated up a wheelchair ramp toward the front of this dim room. I may have seen the exit to this room. The door was open, revealing a hallway that looked like a hotel hallway.

I floated back down toward the back of the room. I started singing a rock song that I was making up on the spur of the moment for the man. The song was about how hard it was to be in a rock band, but how, if he wanted to be in my band, he could.

As I sang this song, I floated around a small pile of junk on the floor, then back up to the front of the room.

Dream #3

A young man was living in some gigantic apartment building. He had gotten mixed up with some young men who were starting up trouble in the building.

The young man had a friend who was keeping away from the troublemakers. The troublemakers had decided to hurt the friend.

The young man was torn by this. He wanted to be part of the troublemakers' gang. But he didn't want to hurt his friend. He'd thought the gang had actually stood for something. Now he was starting to wonder.

The young man went into his aunt's apartment, which was little more than a bed-sized room. The aunt, who looked like Aunt Bea from Andy Griffith, sat, maybe on the edge of her bed, using a sewing machine. Her "sewing" project was a series of colored strings that ran, like a spider web, up to the ceiling, then back down to a white sheet hung on the front wall, beside and over the bed.

The young man had to walk on the bed to get from the door, on the left side of the room, over to the side of the room. As the young man walked over, his aunt gave him a big speech. It was about where the young man would have to live if he went to prison, and particularly to death row. The aunt would have to follow this man wherever he'd go. Apparently this might even involve going to "the Gulf Coast of Mars."

The aunt said she didn't want to have to move to some new apartment building on Mars or anywhere else, so the young man better just shape up.

The young man finally understood that the troublemakers were just criminals, and that they didn't actually stand for anything. He decided to quit the gang and try to save his friend. He walked back over the bed and out of his aunt's apartment.

I was worried for the young man, his friend, and his aunt. I thought for sure the friend would be killed. But I also could imagine a scene where the aunt's sewing project was destroyed --vandalized -- by the gang because the aunt had taken a stand against the gang.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a bedroom with a woman who looked like the woman from the band Republica, but with a lot of red-dyed strands in her hair and copper-tan skin. The room was dim, as if lit only by a very small lamp. It was also bare, with only the bed for furniture. The bed had no blankets.

The woman was naked and writhing around on the bed. I got on top of her and had sex with her. We had sex in a couple different positions (although I seem to have finished shamefully quickly).

We lay on the bed. The woman looked at the walls of the room. They were filled with manga sketches that looked professionaly done. The woman either asked me why I liked manga or whether I thought manga was an art. I told her I definitely thought it was an art.

I tried to express how I'd seen comic artists draw, and how that alone would have conviced me. But I was unable to bring out the words to say that. So I told the woman that I'd show her.

We got up (the woman -- and I -- may have remained naked throughout the dream) and walked out of the room. We were in some basement. I knew this basement had been made into a manga museum. It was like the house of which this basement was a part was on a college campus. The house held rooms for students, like the room the woman and I had just been in. And the students had volunteered their rooms while they were away (on vacation) to be exhibit rooms for a temporary manga museum.

The basement was very dark, lit only by a strange, dim, red light. There were four doors for "dorm rooms" on the wall to our left. The room we were in was like a big common area.


I told the woman I'd find her some classic manga and show her why I thought it was art. We went into the door at the farthest end of the room. We went inside.

The room was also dim, barely lit by a red light. The place smelled terrible! I looked around. It looked like a normal college boy's dorm, nothing out of the ordinary. But the smell drove me crazy. So I left. The woman stayed in there, looking through some manga on a thin, tall bookshelf.

I walked a couple rooms down. I may have thought about switching on some lights in the place. But I didn't want anybody outside to know the woman and I were here. I figured if they knew we were here they'd all want to come in. Then the place would get crowded.

I went into another room. This room was supposed to have manga from a very early period. For some reason I kept thinking about Golgo 13. I thought there was something in particular about the brushstrokes in manga that were just perfect. But you'd only know it deeply if you saw someone actually sketching things out (with a pencil?).

I probably spent some time in this other room, looking at manga and individual pages of drawings.

At some point, people started coming down into the manga museum. Morning light may also have started to fill the rooms.

Dream #2

I was with some group of kids at a sports camp or a summer training vacation. We had been out on a large, grassy field, doing some kind of fun training, possibly with a giant robot of some sort.

We were now all in a bedroom, on a bunk bed. There were a lot of us boys on the top and bottom bunks. We probably weren't sleeping. We were probably just hanging out and goofing off before the next training thing we had to go to.

I lay on the bottom bed. I was a little disappointed by this sports camp. It was all about football, and I was more interested in cross country.

There was a black boy laying just at my head, sideways to me, like we'd form a T. Another black boy hung over the top bunk, talking to the boy on my bunk.

The boy said, "When they got that new cross country coach, things really changed, right? He got some of those kids who were no good at football. Nobody thought football players could run long distance. But he sure showed them.

"Man, it's too bad tou didn't see my last race! I was really proud of myself. When I started, I thought I was gonna get a lousy time. But I got my best time ever!"

Somebody called all us boys out to take a bus to our next training event. So we were getting up. The boy on the top bunk climbed down and walked over to a dresser. I stood up and went to the dresser, too.

I hoped nobody would ask me about my times in cross country. They'd been horrible. I didn't want to actually say my best time out loud and be laughed at. I kept thinking of the time 18:38 in my head, even though I knew that was a faster time than my fastest time.

The boy from the top bunk and I stood before the dresser. I pulled open a drawer. I pulled out my wallet and something like a wadded up sock and a skinny, tall comb.

I regretted that the boy saw me take my stuff out of the drawe. I didn't like people to know where I put my belongings. But I also didn't want people to know that. I wasn't suspicious of anybody. I didn't want them to think I was. But I just had a fear of people knowing where I put my belongings.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was coming to see the birth of a baby. I had apparently seen the mother give birth before (possibly in an earlier part of this dream). I hoped I wasn't late this time.

It was day, and I was running toward the house. I seemed to be coming at the house from the back. The house was very small, white, and in a rural setting.

I noticed that the land behind the house had become a huge pool of water, apparently right from the backdoor. I stood at the edge of this pond, looking toward the backdoor.

A group of men and women about my age all exited the backdoor. A woman stayed in the house. She handed the newborn baby to a tall, skinny, slightly bearded man. The man may have dunked the baby in the water. This was the baby's birth.

I jumped in the pool (I was wearing a backpack, for some reason). I swam toward the group of people. I wanted to be part of the birth process so much.

I thought to myself that I've always worried about seeing a baby still covered in everything right after birth. But now the baby would be clean. I was disappointed and relieved at the same time that I wouldn't have to see the baby right after birth.

Everybody was now carrying the baby toward the far back end of the pond. I had to swim all the way over there to reach them now.

I got to the group of people. It may now have been all women. They were all talking with each other in cooing voices. I tried to be a part of whatever they were doing. But I couldn't see the baby anywhere.

I may have seen somebody carry the baby, now wrapped in swaddling cloths, over the edge of the pond. The pond was bordered by a ledge of flat, grey stone. I clumsily hoisted myself, in my wet clothes, onto the ledge. Beyond the ledge there was a slight drop down to some bare, dusty soil. I jumped.

When I landed, I was reminded of my backpack. I thought of how wet it must be. Then I remembered that my computer was in my backpack! It must be soaked right through!

I walked around the right side of the pond, heading back toward the house and the spot where I'd jumped into the water. I was trying to convince myself that my computer really wasn't soaked all the way through. I'd had it in its case after all, right? But I knew that was a lousy argument. The case wasn't waterproof. I knew I'd have to test it.

I got back up to the edge of the pond, then I turned around and walked back toward the back end, but up on the ledge instead of down in the dirt area.

I may have encountered my old friend K or my mom. I explained my problem with my computer. K/my mom asked me why I jumped in the pond with my backpack on. I replied that seeing the baby was so important that I didn't care what I was wearing.

I now had my computer sat on the ledge, opened, and turned on. I said, "See? It doesn't work. I'm just getting this one program you always get when your computer doesn't work. It's like a sign from the company that your computer is broke."

The program was some yellow and green colored video game that reminded me of an Atari 2600 video game.

My view may have changed to a dark office, where I was all alone.

Dream #2

I was in my great-grandmother's house. I sat near the front door. I sat on one of my great-grandmother's stools and ate some kind of sandwich.

I was probably by myself in the house, waiting for other people to arrive. The lights in the house were all on, and it was warm.

Some of my family had gone to the hospital with my great-grandma. She may now have been dead. Regardless of that, the doctors had done a bad job on her.

I recalled one particular statement made by a doctor. My great-grandmother had had something like a stroke. The doctor said that my great-grandma's brain would heal itself, so that there was so need for treatment.

I laughed to myself, thinking that they all should have realized there was a lot more damage than they'd thought, and that my great-grandma had actually needed a lot more help, especially since she was so old.

I tried to remember something about what the doctor had said. It had something to do with the electrical patterns in the brain, how they travelled in circles. I could feel the electricity in my brain, travelling counter-clockwise in my skull.

I remembered that the doctor said that if you have an electrical anomaly, such as a minor stroke, you could often wait for the electricity to come back around and reset the messed up part of your brain.

Now I had an electrical anomaly in my brain. I was having trouble speaking, as if my tongue were way too thick for me to talk with. I wondered if my mouth were just too full of food. In panic I pulled whole chunks of tomato out of my mouth. They looked like the upper palates, like for braces.

I tried to speak again, but my tongue still wasn't getting words out. I was pacing around the house, in a bit of panic. I convinced myself that it would just take time for my tongue to heal.

Just then my sister and great-grandmother walked in the door. I knew I couldn't speak, so I just kept quiet, trying to show by my facial expression how happy I was to see my great-grandmother.

My sister sat me and my great-grandma down on a red, plasticky couch (very unlike the couch my great-grandma had). My great-grandma seemed to be a lot livelier than she'd been in a long time. But I still was unable to speak!

My great-grandma (wearing a grey, tweed coat) said to me, "Aren't you going to say anything? Here I've come all this way to say hello. Aren't you going to be grateful and talk with me?"

Good morning, everybody. I remember two dreams from last night.

Dream #1

I was, or was seeing through the eyes of, a pretty girl. The girl had a face like Alyssa Milano, but she was short and very thin.

The girl was at a beach house. Out the back of the house, she saw one her female friend in the water, about up to her waist in waves. The girl thought that her friend was hurt, not as if she were drowning, but as if something about the water was making her friend ill. So she ran out to help her friend.

The scene now seemed to repeat itself. Except now I was watching it from a 3rd person view, as if I were watching a movie. Now the woman in the water was the Alyssa Milano-type girl I had just been. She was a transgendered woman, now, too.

The woman who ran out of the beach house to save the woman in the water was now an Asian woman, slightly overweight, and a little ditzy looking, like the girl from the live action Cutey Honey movie.

The ditzy woman now had the other woman on the shore. The ditzy woman wanted to make sure the other woman was still breathing. She pushed the other woman's thin, pink tank-top down below her shoulders, even below her small chest. The woman had pink glitter or pink, glittery coverings, on her nipples.

I now saw this scene from inside the beach house, as if I were myself looking out to the beach. I turned away from the scene. My friend, a girl or a transgendered girl, thin, with blonde and brown hair, and wearing a thin, zebra-striped tank-top and skirt, sat in a big, leather chair, her legs curled up into the chair as well.

I laughed and said to my friend, "I forgot how in love she (the ditzy woman) is with her (the woman who had been in the water)."

My friend asked me why I cared so much about those two girls. She seemed hurt. She then looked at me in a sexy way. I realized she'd been wanting me to pay attention to her and play around with her a lttle. I didn't know if I wanted to. I couldn't quite remember if she was a woman or a man. But I started feeling really attracted to her, anyway.


Dream #2

I was out in what looked like a driveway made out of smooth river pebbles. It may have been on the right side of a house. I stood by a car with a couple of my family members, whom I don't recognize now.

We were in some town that people usually think of as a tourist destination. We had taken care of some task, and now we had some time left over. I hadn't anticipated this. So I told my family members they could go spend a couple hours doing the fun things this town had to offer. I figured I'd have some fun, too.

I went into the house. I went down into the basement. I was now sitting at a very cramped, dirty bar with an old, very overweight man.

The man was talking to me about how, if you went into the military, you didn't always have to carry a gun. He said, "I knew people who, they went into the Army, and the only thing they ever touched the whole time was a gib!"

I couldn't quite figure out what a gib was. I just smiled and nodded. But I somehow gathered that the man meant that his friend had worked on some kind of maintenance crew. I started talking about (and making hand motions indicating) a table saw. The man waved me off, almost as if saying I was too young or naïve to understand.

We were walking back up the stairs now. I figured I still had a couple hours to hike in the mountains of this area before meeting up with my family members. Maybe I'd even hike to our meeting point, which was now, somehow, deep in the woods.

But the old man invited me to have dinner with him. The first floor of this house was actually a fine Italian restaurant (even though it basically looked like a living room full of tables). The guy sat at a table right next to the side door.

I figured that since this old guy had taken such a liking to me, I'd go ahead and eat with him and have some more conversation. But I knew this would basically take away all the time I had left for doing anything fun.

I got a huge plate of spaghetti and meatballs with thick noodles and a lot of sauce. I saw a long table full of family members. I went and sat down with them, on the opposite side of the room from the man.

It now seemed to be night, from what I could see through the windows. At some point the room became windowless and dim, with sea-green walls.

I had forgotten about the man. I looked over my left shoulder. I saw another table, a round table, about half full of more of my family members. The man was just now sitting down at that table. One of my family members had invited him over.

I looked way back in the dim room, to where the man's table had been. The room was mostly empty, bare. But by the door, a lot of older, tough-looking men (who I thought of as Croatians) sat along a big, dark bench. They all seemed to be heavily dressed up in winter clothes. They were talking in a different language, moderately but happily.

I looked forward again as a young, female family member to my right began saying a prayer in a different language. I was about to tell her to stop praying that way -- the old men would think she was making fun of them. But she said something like, "This is a very sacred prayer in their language. They appreciate the fact that I know it."

Everybody was talking and joking and eating. I looked across the table and to my left. A few seats down, I saw my great-grandmother. She was alive! She was as small as a child, and she wore a gauzy, crepe-like, pink dress and a broad-brimmed, pink hat.

I looked away for a moment. I now remembered part of the task we had been here for. I also remembered that we were actually in Washington, DC. My great-grandma had apparently died. We took her to DC for the funeral, because she'd wanted to go there and we had planned a vacation there.

When we'd gotten there, I remembered, my great-grandma had been so touched by how much we loved her that her body had come back to life. I remembered seeing her in the casket, her eyes blinking open.

I now looked at her sitting at the dinner table. She was talking with everybody and helping herself to some food. Her hands looked stubby, and she seemed to be wearing a yellow dress. I knew that she could only keep her body alive for a little while longer. I was thankful for the time she had given us.

(Good -- um... afternoon, everybody. On the weekdays, I usually write my dreams in the morning, on my subway ride in to work. But this morning I didn't think I remembered any dreams.

Then, sitting at work (really stressing over something, in fact), I suddenly recalled this dream. Weird.

The dream is weird. I'd say at least part of the influence on it is the fact that over the past couple days I've been reading Jack Kerouac's Book of Dreams. In one dream, Kerouac meets Dinah Shore. That dream was so charming, I think I also wanted to have a dream where I met a celebrity. So my unconscious obliged... kinda.)

Susan Faludi was out in the desert doing research on a new book she was writing. The book was similar to The Terror Dream. But this book had less to do with feminism and more to do with some general national conspiracy. I probably identified with Faludi or saw through her eyes.

Faludi had discovered whatever it was she had been trying to discover. She may now have been standing by her car in an empty road in the middle of the desert. Faludi may have slammed down the trunk or hatchback of her car with an air of finality.

She intended to go somewhere. Instead of taking her car, which now may not even have existed, she flew up into the air, possibly by means of a red and white striped parachute.

She flew away to her right, along the road. She knew that she actually needed to head along the road, but in the opposite direction. She flew over a small overpass. This overpass was a landmark telling her she was definitely going in the wrong direction.

The wind was carrying her in this direction, although she "had control" over "her power of flight." She kept telling herself that she would work up the momentum of the wind in order to get swinging around in the correct direction.

But she kept flying and flying in the wrong direction. It was now night. Faludi was in the woods. It was cold and snowing. Still flying along the highway, I/Faludi (I definitely was part of her decision making process here) saw a billboard. The billboard was on a 50-foot tall, steel column.

I knew that if I/she grabbed on to the guard rail in front of the walkway before the billboard, I/she could stop the uncontrolled flight and at least get my/her bearings. So Faludi grabbed the railing and did some kind of elastic flip onto the walkway before the billboard.

The walkway was snowy and lit by a few fluorescent flood lamps. Othewise, everything was snowy, cotton-grey dark. Some pine trees may have reached as high as the billboard.

Faludi huddled behind some weird, clear, plastic rectangle which I figured was some kind of a solar panel for powering the billboard's lights. Faludi thought she could call someone, perhaps her husband, to pick her up here. But it was just so cold, and she felt like it would take forever for someone to get here.

I had a false awakening. I was going about my "daily life" when somebody, possibly my mother, told me that Susan Faludi had died. I was really surprised and upset. I regretted the fact that I'd never gotten to meet her.

But it also seemed weird that Faludi should have died. She had always seemed like such a healthy person to me.

Somehow I saw a photo of her -- possibly on the web. The photo showed Faludi in a motorized wheelchair, like they have at the front of grocery stores, the kind that look almost like cars or scooters with baskets on the front. Faludi was overweight, with short, grey hair. She wore a white t-shirt and black slacks, both of which were sloppy and tight on her.

Again, this didn't make sense. I thought, There's no way Faludi could have changed this quickky. I began to doubt seriously whether Faludi was in fact dead.

(Just one small note on this, from November 14th. After looking at some news images, I realize that the image Susan Faludi is hiding behind in the snow is a teleprompter. I'm not sure why a teleprompter is hanging out on a billboard. And I'm not sure why I thought it was a solar panel.

But, then again, I'm still not sure why this dream involved Susan Faludi. The actions in this dream are completely the opposite of what I feel Falud's actions would be. They're more like what I think my own actions would be. So maybe the dream is saying I wish I was like Susan Faludi, but that I'm just still horribly, embarrassingly like myself. Oh, well.)

Good morning everybody. I remember two dreams from last night. I wrote them down late, so my day memory might be clouding them up a little.

Two side notes: the bowling alley in the first dream comes from an msn.com photo article I read about huge mansions. Almost every mansion had a movie theatre and a bowling alley.

Also, the cops coming to my house is from my waking life. My upstairs neighbors always slam and slam on the floor. I feel like it's done to hurt me, like they don't want me around. It's been going on for a long time. I've finally called the police, because it's gotten so constant, loud, and violent that I'm afraid to come home. I feel terrible for calling, because I've never wanted to be the kind of person who calls the police on people. But I also have a fear of the police.

Dream #1

I was in a car with my old friends D and Y, riding through the parking lot of a bowling alley. It was probably night time. D was probably driving the car.

We let Y out, probably to run in and get a lane. For some reason, the car now seemed to be gone. D and I were walking away from the bowling alley, as if we had finished the game and were walking to the car.

I really wasn't happy to have to hang around with D, and I think I was making that known to him. At some point it became dark, like at night. D was wearing a shiny, black leather jacket. I asked him how his life was. He broke down and started crying about how his mother had died.

It was daytime again. I felt really bad for D, and I tried to comfort him. He kind of brushed me off and told me it was fine. Apparently his mother had had a terminal disease which acted very quickly on her. D told me something his mother had told him before she died, which made him feel better about the whole thing. It made me think of toothpaste for some reason.

We had been wandering through the first few rows of the parking lot, more like we were waiting for Y to arrive with the car again, although it was also like we were trying to find the car. But now we were walking back toward the bowling alley.

The parking lot had been asphalt. But now it was dirt. The dust was floating up into the blue sky, as if there were a lot of traffic or wind in the parking lot, even though I couldn't see any activity.

Some old friends of ours came up to me and D. They started saying a lot of teasing things to D. But I got really angry and threatening with them, telling them to leave D alone, he'd had to deal with enough already. Everybody said sorry and left D alone.

We were all walking back toward the bowling alley. We were close to the building, but the actual entrance now felt so far away. I somehow got separated from the rest of the group. I walked all by myself, in a stretch of dirt road between the building-front's sidewalk and a long strip of concrete island.

The ruts in the ground looked like horse carriages ran through it. I thought to myself, Of course they do. That's how things worked in the Old West. And that's where I am.

I wondered where the heck the car was. I couldn't remember if I was going into the bowling alley or going home. But if I was going home, I wanted to get in the car and go. And if I was going into the bowling alley, I wanted to take the car to get there quicker.

But I thought to myself, No car is ever going to come pick you up, dummy. This is the Old West. We didn't have cars back then.

Dream #2

I had called the police because the people upstairs from me were slamming and slamming on the floor again. It was morning, and the light in my bedroom was grey and slightly dim. The police knocked on my door.

I opened the door. There was just one officer: a short, slightly overweight, black woman in her late 40s or early 50s. She told me that I had called the police so many times that I was now under investigation myself. She would have to search my house.

I said fine. I let her in. I just let her go wherever she wanted in my house. I went back to my bed and lay down. I figured that I wouldn't follow the officer around. That would look suspicious, like I had something to hide, which I didn't.

But I slowly realized that my apartment was actually very large (which it is definitely not in waking life). I realized I had a lot of rooms, and that as soon as the officer saw how many rooms I had, she'd get jealous of me and try to find some reason to arrest me.

So I started running through the house, trying to find the officer. I figured that I'd explain how much room I had in this house by telling the officer that my mother also lived here with me.

I was actually surprised by how many rooms I had in the house. I hadn't realized this place was so big. But a lot of the rooms were done up in such a hyper-girly way, with pink and purple colors, stuffed animals, and fluffy, lacy bed covers, that I felt like someone other than I had to have been living here. I gradually became convinced that my mother was in fact living here with me.

Now, confident that my story was the truth, I felt like I could confront the officer with my story, preventing her from getting jealous and throwing me in jail for some made up reason.

I found the officer in a hyper-girly room, sitting on the bed. She started talking to me about something, but I can't remember what. All I remember is that she seemed to be very sad.

Good morning everybody. It's Saturday, so I have some time for side notes. Usually I post my dreams via phone, on my subway ride in to the city.

I remember five dreams from last night. But I can't remember any of them very well. I've been pounding NyQuil every night, and that really affects my recall -- though it doesn't seem to affect the weirdness of my dreams too much.

Looking back on these dreams, it seems pretty obvious a lot of the imagery comes from a photo article msn.com had yesterday about huge mansions. A lot of the mansions had movie theatres. And one of the mansions had the "organic shape" of the science lab in the first dream.

I was lucid for about half a second in the fourth dream. I seldom get a solid lucid dream. Maybe once a year. I don't try. Lucidity, like meditation and OBEs, seems to be bad for my nerves rather than good. I don't know why. I usually let my dream life just take its course.

Also -- sorry to MoSh for appropriating his avatar into the fifth dream. I think I have found the dream-sharing interactions on this site so interesting here that I made up a DC to dream-share with.

Dream #1

I was in a restaurant with my female friend T. The restaurant was nice, dim, with tall tables and chairs, all widely spaced. There were very few people in the restaurant. However, I ended up talking with some guy sitting a few tables away from us.

The guy and I ended up talking about spiders. I was trying to make some point about how spiders are actually nicer than a lot of people think. I was trying to use some weird etymological (not entomological) argument.

Eventually I turned to T and asked, "How do you say 'phobia of spiders?'"

T asked, "In Japanese or French?"

I said, "In French, of course!" as if the argument had all been based on French etymology.

T gave me the phrase. But as she did, it was also like I was trying to work through the phrase in my own mind, trying to recall it for myself. As I did so, it was like T was explaining a whole series of things regarding phobias.

T expanded over my whole field of view. Darkness surrounded her. She was eating some kind of tofu soup. I now focused deeply on one of the cubes of tofu. It seemed to break in the broth. The fragments dissolved and became something like stars in the darkness.

As this happened, T was explaining the optical, neurological, and muscular processes of a phobia. As she finished her discussion, the stars became directed toward moving out of some kind of wall. I seemed to be moving with the stars. They pushed out through and past the wall. I went with the.

Outside the wall, I looked back to see that this "wall" had been some kind of half sphere of organic material, like a microscopic picture of a spore. The view of this was in black and white, with all the outlines and ridges of the "spore" in white and all the smooth parts of the spore and the spore's surroundings in black.

As this was occurring, I heard T say, "You see, we can take any sort of psychological process, such as the phobia of spiders, determine its physical characteristics, even down to the temperature change of the body, and re-engineer an organism through these phenomena. And that is how we've created our first mouse."

I was now floating deep in the blue waters of a sea. I saw, down at the sea's floor, an organically curved building, which I recognized as a research lab, covered in sand.

I thought to myself, Why would they have created a mouse? Wouldn't they have created a human from all that human data? But I then realized that you would first have to create small animals, then work your way up to larger animals. I also realized that all of this would have to take place in the depths of the sea, because you'd need the pressure.

I now saw inside the research lab. I saw inside an office that was unlit. The only light coming into the office was from another room, and from the wall-sized window which showed the blue sea outside.

A man sat in the office. He was young, tall, strong, tan-skinned, with slightly curly hair that went just below his shoulders and gentle blue-green eyes. He wore a slightly loosed blue-green t-shirt and blue jeans.

The man was on an old-style, big cell phone with his girlfriend. He was talking about how hard this work was. He sometimes wondered if it was even worth it for him to continue. He also wondered something like whether it was ethical for him to be doing this kind of work.

But he then told his girlfriend, "But, hey, they're paying me 30 a month! That's right! I mean 30 Gs!"

I quickly did the calculation and realized this was a lot of money.

Dream #2

I was in a stadium-style movie theatre. The movie was playing. The movie theatre was relatively empty. In fact, the only people who were there, I think, were friends of mine. The movie theatre may have been part of something like a hotel or resort, and we all may have been at this resort for some specific lesson or project.

I saw my friend T down a few rows from me. I went down to her row and started flirting with her. We ended up cuddling, and getting to the point where I had her long skirt pushed up pretty far on her legs. I thought we might even be getting ready to go back to her room.

But T got up and went somewhere else. I sat watching the movie for a little while. Then I saw an extremely attractive, blonde woman in her mid-20s down a couple of rows from me. I didn't know her, but I went to talk to her. She was very well-groomed, and she wore a pale purple, fuzzy sweater and a long skirt.

We were talking for a little while. Then she started leaning and nuzzling against me. I thought I probably shouldn't respond so much to her, after I had been messing with T and getting her so excited. But I eventually got so aroused by the woman's advances that I began responding.

We started getting pretty involved. I thought to myself, All my friends are in the rows behind and above me. They can all see what I'm doing, right after I'd been doing it with T. What will they think? And what if T is still back there?

The blonde woman and I were now in some store that looked like a dollar store full of Christmas decorations. We were embracing each other fondly and calmly, as if comfortable with the thought of soon being in bed with each other. We stood near a wall-height window in the store. The sunlight was bright and golden-white.

Suddenly I could sense T coming from some part of the store behind us. I thought, I can't let T see me like this! She'll be so upset! She likes me so much!

So I took the blonde woman, folded her up (like she was now only three feet tall), and shoved her into a clear-plastic shelf. The shelf was also holding metallic red and gold letter-shaped Christmas streamers wrapped in flat cellophane packaging with cardboard tops.

I turned back and looked along the aisles. It was a little bit dimmer farther back in the store. I could see T walking up toward me. She was smiling somewhat innocently. When she finally got up to me, I could see that her hair had gotten long and kind of messy.

Dream #3

I floated down from the ceiling of a basketball auditorium. I descended over a wide staircase, at the top of which was a wide entranceway. At the bottom of the staircase was the basketball court.

A group of people walked out from the entranceway as I descended the final slow feet to the stairs. The group was led by a white man. He didn't look real at all. He looked like a cartoon. He was amazingly wide, with unnaturally tanned skin, a plasticky wave of hair, and a frozen grin. He wore a sea-green polo shirt and khaki slacks.

Behind this white man were five black men, dressed up like the Harlem Globetrotters. They all looked like terribly exaggerated cartoons! One of them even looked like the bottom half of a bowling ball in red and white striped shorts -- with no top half for his body!

I told myself, This is unreal. I'm dreaming.

As soon as I realized I was dreaming, everything took on such a tactile clarity that I felt like I was awake. I said to myself, Oh. I guess I just woke up from my dream. No wonder I thought I was dreaming. I told myself, Well, hopefully next time I'll realize I'm dreaming while I'm actually dreaming.

The basketball players all ran out to the court. I ran out as well. It was like I was supposed to play against all of them. They all ran around me with the ball. I kept almost getting the ball from them. But they would pass it around and keep it away from me.

At one point, all five basketball players were in a line, tossing the ball back to the next person as I approached the person who had the ball. I was especially frustrated not being able to get the ball from the player who didn't even have a top half to his body!

The players were now all around me, near the hoop. The were surrounding me. I felt like if I didn't get the ball now, I would lose for sure! Suddenly, a white woman dressed up as Super Mario got the ball from one of the players. She bent over to look into my face (as if I were waist-high -- only a child?) and nodded at me, letting me know she was on my side.

The Super Mario girl soared up into the air. It looked like she was going to make a slam dunk! The hooped seemed to be 20 feet high. But the girl looked like she was going to make it. But as she approached the hoop, she just threw the ball straight at the net. The ball flew off and rolled away somewhere off the court.

The Super Mario girl landed. Some of my other teammates gathered around me. (I only came up to their waists, as if I were a child, although this didn't occur to me in the dream.) The Super Mario girl may now have been wearing spring-green overalls and a pink shirt with tiny, little flower designs on it, though she still had the Mario nose and mustache.

The teammates all explained to me that the Super Mario girl could have made the dunk. But that wasn't the point of this game. I looked at the ground. I didn't want to hear that. I thought, If she could have made the dunk she should have just made it. The basketball players had all frustrated me so much. Somebody should just have dunked on them!

Dream #4

I was in a basement of some really fancy hotel or house. The basement was like a nice, den-like room, with warm, orange walls. There were a lot of people here. We were all having some kind of multi-day party or retreat. We were all somewhat rich, and most of us had been friends for a while.

There were a few groups of us standing in a few different lines to get night-time desserts from a number of different small bars before heading to some late-evening recreation like playing an easy sport or watching a movie.

I was (or was seeing from the viewpoint of) a white man in his 50s or 60s. I was somewhat tall, strong, with tanned skin. I had grey-white hair, short, and well-combed. I had steel-blue eyes. I wore a blue shirt, possibly navy blue, and pale-khaki or white khaki shorts.

In front of me was a little boy. He was blonde, very pretty. He seemed to be wearing only a pale blue, long-sleeved, Gap shirt (which is what I wear as a shirt to go to bed) and nothing else. The shirt went down almost to the young boy's knees.

I and the boy still had a few more people to go before we would get served. The bar we were at looked like it had some kind of tropical theme: it had bamboo shoots for the bar front, and had a roof over it that looked liked thatched palm leaves.

I seemed to be hugging the boy from behind. The boy finally told me he didn't feel like he wanted to do this, and that he really didn't want to do the late night activity. I understood that the boy just wanted to go to bed.

I got out of line with the boy and began walking out of the room. As I did so, I said goodbye to a few people, explaining that I was heading out for the night, because the little boy figured it was time to go to bed.

I noticed how all the other older men were with older women, like they were with their wives. I couldn't figure out why I was with a little boy.

Dream #5

I walked into an apartment that was a maybe three or four floors up in its building. The apartment had brick walls, and it looked out over some kind of city scene, like in a slightly busy area of Brooklyn or Manhattan.

It was late afternoon. The light outside was dim blue. But inside the apartment it was warm and well-lit. The apartment felt cluttered, but nice and comfortable.

There were other people in the apartment, all friends. It was like we were having a party. Everybody was happy and cheerful. But I also had a sense that we were really here to strategize about something. It was like we were making plans to defend ourselves against some really bad thing that was about to happen or that had already begun happening and was in its early, relatively mild stages.

The apartment may have been a very large studio, so that the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, and the bedroom, were all really "one room," even though the place was large enough and the space was varied enough so that each diferent place felt like a "different room."

I walked over to the dining table, near the front windows. The kitchen was just to my right. I looked at a sheet of paper. It was in a different language. I began talking about what was written on the paper.

One of my friends, a young man all dressed up in fancy garb and a powdered wig, like the picture of Vivaldi in MoSh's avatar on this site, came up to me and asked me if I spoke the language on the sheet of paper.

"Oh, no," I replied. "I don't speak Latin. I don't speak any language other than English. I mean, I think people are fooled, because I learn songs in other languages, and I sing those songs pretty well. But that's mostly j-pop, and I definitely don't speak Japanese."

I felt stupid, having to admit that I didn't speak Latin, after I had spoken, apparently with a tone of authority, regarding the language on the sheet. I thought I had acted in a misleading way. So now I tried to make up for it by thinking of a song that I knew in Latin. But all I could think of was Leporello's aria from Mozart's Don Giovanni. And I knew that "wasn't quite" Latin.

I began to see the words of Leporello's aria handwritten in pencil on a sheet of paper, very watery and blurry.