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Morning of December 21, 2017. Thursday.



In my dream, I am living with Zsuzsanna at the Stadcor Street house in Wavell Heights, where we have not lived in years. However, it seems like a “Family Affair” scenario. I happen to seemingly be in the role of Johnny Whitaker as Jody Davis. Zsuzsanna is in the role of Anissa Jones as Buffy Davis. Marilyn (older half-sister on my mother’s side) is in the role of Kathy Garver as Sissy Davis. I am about ten years old and Zsuzsanna (disproportionately to my age) is about eight. We do not look like the television show characters though. We look like ourselves at those ages.

However, Brian Keith is himself, as I know him as Brian Keith rather than his character on the television show. The same with Sebastian Cabot. There is no memory of any of the actors having died. There is no memory of my sister having died. Even though Zsuzsanna is present and we are in the Stadcor Street house, all other memory of my current conscious self identity is absent.

Zsuzsanna, Marilyn, and I are in the kitchen. Brian Keith is working with some sort of large boiler (mostly shaped like a vertically rectangular prism) in the northwest corner of the kitchen. It nearly reaches the ceiling. Something goes wrong and hot water sprays out to the opposite side of the kitchen from the top of the boiler. I watch Brian working in an attempt to fix it. Still, a piece of the boiler falls out from the back. I see many flames near the bottom. I vaguely perceive Brian Keith as my father, even though on the television show, he was my character’s uncle. Even so, I start to realize that there may be danger. I am thinking it will explode and destroy much of the house.

Brian stays, still trying to fix the problem, although I get Marilyn and Zsuzsanna to leave with me by going to the front of the house. On the way, Sebastian Cabot is sitting in an armchair (facing south) in the center of the lounge room, reading a novel. I tell him about the boiler. He formally waves us off to indicate that we should go to the porch to escape the danger. However, he remains seated and calm as if not concerned about the imminent explosion. I think about walls exploding toward us if we do not get to the porch in time, but at another level, I am not really that concerned and remain without much emotion.

Despite the setting having been the Stadcor Street house up to this point, when we go out to the porch from a fictional door in the middle of the west wall of the lounge room, we are then on the King Street boarding house porch (in America).

My dream ends around this point and there is no explosion. (A porch is my most common dream state end marker, which symbolizes the higher level of unconsciousness between dreaming and waking in real time, and has as such since early childhood.)

There is another dream after this, which is not related to this one at all. However, there is then a dream that is related to this same scenario but somewhat different. I am now as I was in the 1980s, though I also, in direct contradiction, perceive myself to have the computer that I have now at our present address. I am even aware of where my computer is, or was, regarding the Stadcor Street house. Oddly though, I do not recall my current conscious self status or of living in Australia (even though the Stadcor Street house is in Australia and I still live in Australia).

The boiler is still acting up. Brian Keith is not present, but I talk to Marilyn (recognizing her as my real sister this time) about how hot it is getting near the west kitchen wall, which may affect the east wall of my den. I ask her if the heat will ruin my computer and she nods without speaking. I yell “f–k you” at an absent Brian Keith about ten times prior to fully waking. (I have not seen “Family Affair” since the 1970s.)

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What a delightfully and ridiculously mangled mess of nonsense this is. I have no idea where any of it came from other than the waking transition symbolism that has been very familiar since childhood. (This includes a boiler or furnace symbolizing the emergent consciousness factor via RAS - the reticular activating system, which is perceived as causing the dream state to enter an “end of the world” perspective, usually completely unrelated to waking life and restricted to merely symbolizing the end of the dream state as it has thousands of other times since early childhood. Fire typically symbolizes the conscious self identity in its emergent consciousness roots in coming out of the dream state - though in this case, there is also the association with the hotter weather.) The kitchen setting usually indicates mild hunger during sleep, more so towards morning. There is also the possibility that, in this case, the potential for the boiler exploding relates to the digestive process (as it was in the kitchen), though I did not have heartburn at any recent point. My concern about my computer was from a subliminal thread of memory from a worker coming in early this morning and fixing the ceiling in our front room, though the computer is on the opposite side from where the work was done.

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4-29-12

Took a nap at 2:45, woke at 5 o'clock

I don't know the original setting of the dream, but I know that early on in the dream I performed a nose-pinch RC and it worked. I was somewhat surprised and shifted my hand to a spot that I was more sure would block any possible nasal air passage. It still worked. Over and over, probably upwards of a dozen times in a row, I did a nose pinch and every time it came up as breathing through anyways.
And so I concluded that my nose was broken and that I'd have to ask about it later.
HUFP()@(RYHOPIQWHDUNP@J(CO$EU$@P#R!#(%$(*#)%$@#()* JECHQUWPVEHIJ@ECVDUJQWHC)(FQ#YT*(PROE()&$*$*&#(@$& !@!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Okay, now that we've gotten THAT out of the way...
Memory gap. (grrr)
I remember after some point in the dream that I was back home in Iowa and that I had been hired for some company to do some work at a sort of facility that looked like a retrofitted barn. Retrofitted to seemingly have a six-foot-wide, five-foot-long rail gun (which is basically a completely unworkable design. I helped set up the rail-gun-type-thing in the top of the barn. After a couple hours of testing and what not, we fired it and the shot went about ten feet out of the barn before dropping to the ground.
Did I mention this is in the middle of my hometown? Actually, a larger version of my hometown?
Anyways, the round itself was hollow and square with clipped edges and no bottom edge. This was so that a person could look through it and stand with it (the round) around him as it fired. And that lucky person was me.
Luckily the firing didn't make much noise.
The third time it fired, I wondered how I would get my hand out of the way of the shot. You see, my job was to reach out in front of the round before it was fired and push a safety tab back into the wall. This somewhat troubled me, as I was to do so only within about a second of the round firing. When the rail gun fired that third time, it didn't seem to push very hard on the (square) round, and it barely cleared the 5' "barrel", if you will, before it tipped down and went crashing to the floor of the barn.
So much for a rail gun.
I took my leave at that point, because it was my break then, and biked around the city some. Again I'll say it was my hometown, Cedar Rapids, but it was larger than normal. (In retrospect it reminds me more of Manhattan in size and building type.)
There's a gap in my recall here, but I know at some point that I stopped to talk to my dad as he was walking somewhere. He mentioned that I didn't need to remotely blow up the rail-gun barn at 3:30 (I had a wireless trigger in my hand), and I panicked because it was 5:23. {note: though my watch was different than normal, it was accurate to the amount of time that had passed.} I reasoned with myself that it must have been intentionally diffused before that point, as I hadn't heard it blow up while biking around. Soon after I and my dad parted ways and resumed biking (me) and walking (him) to wherever it was we were individually going.
After a while I biked across the river on the 1st street bridge and back over on the 2nd street bridge. I parked my bike there and clambered up the wall-like steep side of the embankment for the road that crossed the bridge where it meets the land. On top, the road was suddenly the flat, tar roof of a building. It was also midday instead of evening (as it had been earlier), and the roof was hot and... bouncy? (Weird.) I walked around on the massive, flat, multi-building roof that I had found until I ran into my dad again. (not literally) We talked some more and he began bouncing on the roof, which was now as resilient as a trampoline. We ended up agreeing on some task to finish before the day was out, and I returned to the area of the roof where my bike was and explored some.
After another gap in my memory, I know I was back at my house. Sort of. The exterior was pretty messed up, and I remember that I was chasing around some young'uns through the house and around it even. I know at one point out behind the house that I needed to go from one end of the house to the other. However, behind the house there was a lot of equipment like you'd see behind a large store or hotel, but smaller. On my right, halfway down, there were two shiny steel boilers or cookers like you'd see in a pricey restaurant. They were running full steam, and when I walked near them I saw that the only path to get to the other side of the building ran right next to them. One problem I noticed was that there was a small metal arm of sorts attached to the nearer boiler and it reached out half of the width of the walkway. It had a 6" disk-like thing on the end, and there was no reason that I thought I couldn't just duck under it or slide by. Don't ask me why I thought it was stopping me, I just did.
I pushed the arm a bit to see what it did, and when I did the lid on the closer boiler raised a little and some of the contents leaked out. It looked like some sort of soup or sauce.
Well, I figured that my best bet was to just getthroughasquicklyaspossiblenandhopethatIdidn'tsp illanything. So I did. I did spill some on me, though less than I expected and only on my arm. As I continued to run, rounding the corner of the house, I (the curious George of a boy) licked some off to tell what it was. It tasted a lot like tomato soup, but stronger, and it had some other flavors and textures that makes me think it was probably a sauce of some sort.
So I clearly do have taste in my dreams, I can finally say with confidence.
Well, when I got back inside my (first) brother was in the kitchen on the phone. I sat down, exhausted,and noticed that his hair (which he like to keep shorter than about two inches) was now thin and long, falling past his ears. When he got off the phone I commented that it made him look like Don Moen. (This was actually a completely incorrect comparison. Don Moen wasn't even close to right; he looked more like Don Francisco.) He laughed at that and reached to a point on my hair (also long) and said that "it'd have to be ten inches longer that that" to be Don's hair.
Again, that should have been Don Fransisco, not Don Moen, but it wasn't.

{Don Francisco: http://greatgreatjoy.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/forgiven.jpg}

I woke, and I tried to make a WILD. I even successfully cleared my mind of most thoughts other than that I would wake up on the bench in the kitchen where I and my brother were and he'd tell me I was dreaming. When I did fall asleep again, however, I didn't dream before my roommate had kicked me in the rear to wake me up. It was dinner time, so it was okay, but I do wish I could have continued the dream.