non-dream dream semi-lucid lucid FA / AP In a large room with groups of people talking, making lots of noise, confusion. I can't handle it, so I leave. It's in some kind of hotel where I am staying. I know that NightHawk is also staying here. It is late night, but he has insomnia and is hanging around in the lobby. He sits over some bench and doesn't notice when I approach. I sit by his side and grab his hand. He is surprised and happy to see me. Asks why I am here, I tell him about whatever I was doing in the big room (some networking event or whatever) and I would, in the past, be able to enjoy the chaos and take notes about the dramas between the people and write stories about, but now I am just tired and overwhelmed and have to leave. We talk and we get cozy and we're both giggly and then we kiss. I am so hungry for him, I kiss him like a maniac. He complains I am not even taking a breath and therefore I am suffocating him too. I laugh. He says he needs to go the toilet. While I wait for him to come back, I am approached by my aunt's personal assistant and helpers. Apparently my aunt Ludovina is filthy rich. They ask me why I am here and say that my aunt is crazy worried looking for me and sent them to get me. She was throwing a party for me somewhere else, but when she found out I was at this hotel, she moved the party here. They tell me the party will be at a hotel floor they booked entirely for us. Then I watch an absurd parade of workers carrying lots of food and gifts into the hotel. Like, one person is pulling a cart full of exotic fruits, then three black men carry three canoes on their heads full of what seems to be fish and seafoood, plus a whole army of caterers with other yummi things. When NightHawk comes back, the parade is over, but I tell him what happened and that my aunt demands my presence, so I invite him to the party. On the party's floor, the first room actually looks sad and gloomy, with some family members and nothing much happening. I say I hope it gets better and they tell me to go explore the rest of the rooms. The next room is a prank/game and is full of fake cobwebs and an upside down piano. I don't know exactly what I should do, but seems like I need to get through the maze of cobwebs. Then I notice there is a real spider on top of the piano, not very big, but there are mirrors positioned in a way that makes it look gigantic. I still don't understand the game, but my family teases me by saying there will be a few more surprises and then there is the banquet awaiting us. I am at a university, like studying there and a young Colin Farrel is visiting friends or whatever. I see him through the corner of my eye that he is talking to people sitting to my side on a long concrete structure that serves as a bench. Eventually he sits down right next to me and he accidentaly bumps into me. I look to the side and he says sorry and smiles. I smile back and he introduces himself as some unintelligible african name. I excuse him but I say I know he is Colin. He asks my name and I say it but he is having trouble understanding or he is playing with me and makes me say it many times and finally spell it out. We make a bit of small talk but eventually he turns to his friends demanding his attention. I drop some papers on the ground, a bit by accident, a bit on purpose and get on my knees to get to see if he helps. He does offer help but I already finished gathering the papers, so no luck. Then his freinds get up and invite him to go to a canteen for lunch. Not the normal one where I usually eat but a fancier one. We look at each other and smile again and he asks if I wanna join. I say sure. I pick my stuff up in a hurry and go after them, but then meet some of my friends on the way who distract me and I lose them. I still go there, because I know the place, but they are already sitting and eating and I need to get the food first. There are no more plates and I can't find anyone to help me with that. Some girl helps me out with the drink dispenser and somehow I get some alcoholic beverage spilled in my head accidentally. When I am grabbing some cutlery I get closer to them and I hear Colin tell his friend that he likes me and can't take his eyes of me, but that I am a bit too plain and he can do so much better. His friend tells him he is being an idiot and overestimating himself because besides being famous he is not that special either. I find it funny that is friend is so brutal. I keep having trouble joining them because there are no more seats available near them, but I hear their conversation a bit longer and his friend is encouraging him to ask me out on a date. And mentions some advice from their friend Lisa Gerrard about relationships. My mind then goes on a rush thinking I don't really wanna be Mrs. Farrel, I just would like to date him for fun as it would increase my "market value" but in my heart I am thinking of NightHawk.
Morning of April 30, 2016. Saturday. In my dream, my wife Zsuzsanna and our children, mostly as we are now, are living in a distorted version of the Barolin Street house, where we have not lived in years. I am at the computer on Facebook and apparently writing a response to something my older brother Dennis (half-brother on my mother’s side) had written. I end up writing something about Thor (both flight symbol and lucid dream symbol but which does nothing here) and stating how it is good they are making movies from the Marvel comic books I used to enjoy reading as I was growing up. Oddly, I get the impression that the latest Thor movie is along the lines of an Elvis movie, and there are apparently scenes where a large group of girls is hanging around him, but I do not consider that as unusual. Looking at the computer screen, I see that there are two responses to what I had written, each about a paragraph long. Oddly, I see that the user name is “But Dennis” and with no avatar. He has written mostly incoherent nonsense claiming that no good movies have been released since the 1960s and it is supposedly my brother’s fault (and I later inform Zsuzsanna of some of what had been written). The first part of each paragraph is a continuation of his user name such as in “But Dennis was responsible for the decline in…” (which is why he uses the troll name “But Dennis”; as he solely trolls Dennis). In real life, this had been utilized as the user name followed by such as “is feeling happy”, but the “But Dennis” as a user name seems a bit clever and I firstly think it might be Linda (a niece) doing this but it is not. Soon, the very common downgrading shift occurs relative to technology. As I go deeper into my dream, parts of my unconscious that for whatever reason cannot accept computer technology, alter my dream without me even taking notice. Instead of Facebook being on my computer screen, it is now in a softcover notebook where the communication still somehow ensues in the manner of continuous Facebook posts. I consider the possibility of my brother replying to the strange unknown poster, but I do not notice evidence of this. Looking at the next page of the notebook, I see he has written more in fairly neat printing, though what he is saying makes little sense. He writes about how a certain sitcom of years ago was one of the last watchable television shows, but then he starts to write about Thor though none of it is actually correct in reference to either the movie or comic book history. I notice page after page of his writing and begin to realize that he is insane and his trolling of Dennis may only be a random choice just from seeing his name once. Both his printing and paragraph content change completely from page to page. In the back of my mind, I contemplate how he must write out something then scan it and then upload it so that it appears in the notebook. It does not dawn on me what a ridiculous concept this is or cause me to reflect on the many other dreams where this sort of false technology has appeared. On one page the writing is very large but vertically stretched and slanting backwards which makes it impossible to read. (This is actually based on the trick where you hold a page horizontally up to your eye and then are able to see what is written when it is elongated over the entire page.) I eventually come across pages that look as if they were written out on an old typewriter. I tell Zsuzsanna how he probably should have done that in the first place, but after that, there are more pages of scribbled handwriting. Finally, I reach a page where it supposedly shows his photograph at the top (somewhat like a Facebook banner). When I look at it, it first seems to be the actor Mitch Pileggi, who played Skinner on “The X-Files”, yet I tell Zsuzsanna that “I know him” and that it is my foreman from one of the factories I had worked at in La Crosse. As is typical of the continuous inconsistency of dreams, he is now depicted as a blind Albino African who apparently had been homeless for a long time, though another homeless black male is in the foreground on the right (a direct giveaway to who this “dream journal” actually belongs to) and a Norwegian backpacker on the far left. I cannot be sure which one is the writer. I notice that the back of the notebook is torn and the last few pages are solely thick scribbles in felt pen. For some reason the faux logic of my dream changes completely and I come to the conclusion that he must have somehow placed the notebook in our house when we were not aware of it. “He must have done it around twelve o'clock,” says Zsuzsanna. It concerns me that someone had been in our house while we were sleeping and we had somehow not awakened at the time. (This is an obvious dream sign - talking about sleeping while in the dream state, especially in reference to what seems like someone leaving their dream journal in our house - but I do not catch on at all.) And now the waking transition begins. It seems to be late at night. I go onto the porch and see a strange man on our sidewalk (of about fifty or more) looking cautiously at our porch. Though it still looks like the Barolin Street house in some ways, there is no fence. There are several young girls running around on our front lawn, all wearing pajamas. Off to the left, there is a square shallow foxhole (about six feet by six feet) with pillows along all sides. One girl jumps in and rolls to the center. Other girls stand about gossiping. This does not bother me as I consider that it may be some sort of school-related ceremony. The man comes up to our door. I push my steel barbell through the mail slot in case he tries anything threatening (blatant symbolism here), though he seems somewhat nervous. He speaks a bit incoherently and seems to be warning me of a couple other males in the neighborhood. Strangely, our porch rotates to where it is now perpendicular in orientation to how it had felt before, seemingly facing north instead of east. Still, I do not pay notice to this change at all in my dream. A different man approaches our door. He is only about half the age of the other man. Again, I hold out the barbell in case he chooses to impose further. He brings attention to the strange insect nests on our porch. I lie and tell him that we are moving anyway so as to cause him to not impose further with his insincere concern. I look up and see a lot of strange features near the porch light including what looks like a sleeping bat, though it is actually some sort of strange black cobweb hanging down. One of the features looks like a large white fuzzy ball hanging from the ceiling, bigger than a baseball. “You have a Kapoosh up there,” he points out, stating that it is a type of very dangerous venomous ant nest (though a Kapoosh is actually for holding knives and is usually a cube, not a sphere). The concept of a singular ant living high up triggers vague but inconsequential doubt. “Good, I wish there was a lot more, to keep people like you away from our porch,” I say sarcastically. (It actually represents my attempt to keep dreaming even though I am not lucid, as it represents the downsizing of the moon near the ceiling. This is why I am adamant against this “intruder” who is actually my emergent conscious mind sent to the porch-liminal point to wake me.) Soon, a (fictional; nonexistent in real layout) door opens on the opposite side of the porch which apparently also leads to outside (and it does not occur to me that this is impossible, as it would actually have to lead into our bedroom if there was really a door there). An unknown male comes in and grabs me. The other male also enters the porch from the front. Even though the waking mechanism has already been triggered, I still decide to knock them back with the barbell but the first male grabs it and prevents its movement. Finally, I have had enough of this dream and become lucid in the last second. Even though it is futile and the waking mechanism is already nearing its end, I mentally change my right hand into a gun and shoot both of them and they go flying backwards in opposite directions. Many people who have legitimately and honestly worked with real dreams probably know that the porch of a house is a waking transition setting. This of course is because it is directly between one’s living quarters and the outside world in real life, to metaphorically render the state between deeper dreaming and the path to waking. Even more obvious, I should have also realized this from the dream signs (girls in pajamas and the foxhole with pillows around it as a play on “the outside world is also sleeping and dreaming now”) and thus would either let the less aggressive male instigate the waking mechanism or decide to become lucid and perhaps greatly lengthen my dream and awareness level. As it is, violence was needed to wake me (with the old “being killed” metaphor to “destroy” the dream self as it probably had originally been at the beginning of mankind). The notebook with all the different writing reminds me a lot of a teacher’s writing rubric standards guide with open response question examples related to a reading assessment, which shows how various students answered a particular query in their own writing, which displays vastly different levels of intelligence even in high school students, almost to a surreal degree.
I was on the gravel road outside of our summer house and some other guys was there as well. We had some kind of fireworks that was like small round balls that flew up in the air, staying there for a while as static glowing balls exploding after a while. When we had fired up like 10 of them we noticed that birds thought that they were food and tried to eat them. I was like "omg, they have them in their mouth! They are going to explode" so I tried to scare the birds away. However at the same time I kinda wanted it to happen because it would be a typical "fun" thing you would see on the internet or something, lol. xD There was some extreme cobweb on the trees to the right of the driveway in to the house. It was like a giant sheet that hanged from the branches down to the ground. Jimmy set it on fire because he didn't like it but I quickly extinguished it because of the risk that it would develop into a huge fire. Instead I was going to rip the web down. Somehow it got stuck in the roof of my mouth! D: I tried to rip it out but only got out a small bit at a time and I forced myself to not get the throw-up-feeling. I managed to get it out eventually. I was on the other side of the yard and I saw that my dad got visited by some thugs that looked dangerous and had guns. He walked with them to our summerhouse. This even somehow happened like several days in a row or something. Without the time actually progressing. Each time the thugs took stuff. The reason for this was that my dad was in a really bad debt and needed to repay it. I remember feeling quite upset by it since they seemed dangerous, but dad seemed content with the situation so I let it go.
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