Morning of April 5, 2020. Sunday. Dream #: 19,466-05. Reading time (optimized): 2 min. Halfway into my sleep cycle, the Naiad factor emerges again (the process occurring similarly through most sleep cycles for over 50 years), though not with lucidity or even liminality. It becomes part of an ambiguous, surreal situation that mediates cognizance out of what would otherwise be water reinduction (virtual melatonin mediation that water dynamics represent). Such a dream (and its familiar ultradian rhythm curve) would only occur near the middle of my sleep cycle. It transitions into me dominating the precursory preconscious mechanism, in a typical farcical play. The personifications of this process are two unknown young males rather than Naiads. The setting has the typical indoor-outdoor ambiguity. There are three rock pools about ten feet apart, with the inference of an outdoor park but inside a bigger version of the Loomis Street house (irrelevant since 1994). I watch unrealistically tiny fish swim around (typical for this type of ultradian rhythm curve). Despite being in a false version of the Loomis Street house, synaptic gating temporarily allows me to recall Zsuzsanna (though not any recall of Australia). Other than a focus on typical water lowering dynamics (less virtual melatonin), some reinduction dynamics emerge. The process correlates with a backstory that the city council declares that the water is “acidic” (perceived as less than seven hours of sleep having passed). As a result, the mediation factor shifts my dreaming experience. I am now near a couch (instinctual awareness of being asleep). Water rises to the seat of the couch, though only inside it. Water also rises to the highest level of the rock pools. I know the city council is doing this. A pipe connects to each arm of the couch (though I never see one) and under the floor to the rock pools. The rising water stops slightly above the couch seat. I suddenly falsely remember that my comic books are inside the couch’s storage area. I lift the seat, and there are three stacks of comic books spanning the full width (which would incorrectly imply it has a very short width). I feel the wetness at the top of the first stack only, taking all three stacks and placing them in another part of the room, which is now the Cubitis living room (irrelevant since 1978). Even though my comic books are mostly dry and okay, the scene shifts where I shout humorously (without anger) at two unknown young men who remain passive and lean back against a wall. (Indoor-outdoor ambiguity becomes an attribute again, and even though I am in a house, a landscape is visible beyond.) I tell them they ruined “hundreds of dollar’s worth of comic books.” The communication (including “hundreds of dollars” as a thread of cognitive arousal, as it involves the perception of numbers) correlates with the typical mechanism of melatonin increase suppressing wakefulness, that is, the ability to read as represented by the comic books being in water within a dream signification as the couch. These same factors unfolded in hundreds of previous dreams in unique ways.)
Morning of October 30, 2018. Tuesday. Dream #: 18,943-03. Reading time: 2 min 38 sec. Readability score: 62. My dream renders a mixed-up combination of a pawn shop from America, a bookstore from Nundah (Australia), and a tackle shop from America. It seems to be late afternoon. I am on my own, with little conscious self memory (even though Zsuzsanna and I frequented the Nundah bookstore years ago). There is a backstory, and false memory, about how I had traded several packs of long bookbinding screws (at least four inches in length) for credit or to trade, though I do not recall all of the details. There are two unfamiliar female cashiers present who are in their twenties. (The bookbinding screws relate to my big stamp album binders from when I lived in Florida, though there are likely associations with similar screws I used for putting the swing set together after Christmas.) I am carrying a winter jacket (though mostly slung over my left shoulder). As such, I try not to appear suspicious, as I also have items I had brought into this store. I consider that they might think I am taking them from their store and trying to hide them under my jacket. (This is a literal bed space strand, as subliminal awareness of the bed sheet pulling around my left shoulder.) They seem puzzled (and express disbelief) when I infer how I had traded items previously. The shelves that had packs of bookbinding screws are now all empty. For some reason, they are to do with fishing tackle, but my dream self does not reflect upon this error. The owner is at the back of his store, but I do not approach his counter. (I perceive him as the owner of the pawn shop in La Crosse, though there are also associations with the owner of the Nundah bookstore.) One of the women asks me if I want to buy one of the bigger bass plugs, but I respond that they are too big for the type of fishing I do (which includes striped bass and smallmouth bass for which I prefer small jigs and spoons). I then walk to the opposite side of the store. I see that they are selling magazines and comic books, though there are only a few different titles on the wooden display shelves. I see two Casper comic books next to each other. There are a few copies of each, vertically stacked. One is $4.53, and the other is $5.64. I decide to buy them, but I am not sure if I have enough money. An unknown chubby man of about twenty (who works in the store) picks one up to look through. I tell him that I had hundreds of Casper comic books collected over thirty years and that they were usually different. I add that sometimes there were reprints in digests and suggest their size by forming a small square with my hands. I tell him about those digest stories being “backed up” in the way I would describe how I back up my dream documentation online and on more than one drive. As I walk to the checkout counter on the opposite side of the store, he calls out, saying something about “sending backup.” The reference seems humorous or business-related rather than inferring police activity. I reach into my wallet and see that I have solely an American twenty-dollar note, which will suffice, even though I consider the prices on the comic book covers will be more when changing to the Australian amount. I pay the cashier, and as I get my change, I deliberately, though liminally, reset the scenario and leave without paying. When the emerging consciousness simulacrum (the chubby male) was talking about “sending backup,” it became a comically sarcastic reference to me subliminally resetting my dream to deliberately manipulate the function of RAS (reticular activating system) as the preconscious simulacrum in the second instance by “erasing” the cashier’s presence. I have utilized this sort of dream control and subliminal, liminal, and lucid manipulation since early childhood.
Morning of September 30, 2018. Sunday. Reading time (optimized): 3 min. Readability score: 58. With my transient dream self’s presence in a non-lucid dream, when the personified subconscious loses its viable connection to both the unconscious mind and the current conscious self identity and my conscious self is virtually annihilated, there are still threads that hold logical potential to pull my dream self back into reality. Having studied the subliminal, liminal, and lucid modes of my dream self since early childhood, most of my dreaming and waking processes have remained unequivocal. Since childhood, certain anchoring factors have maintained the foundation of the dream state by way of the virtuous circle effect, either by establishing non-lucid dream control or the presence of the emerging consciousness that brings about apex lucidity or clarity in otherwise distorted erroneous sequences. Understanding such processes is what brings about non-lucid dream control and eradication of so-called bad dreams (other than when prescience or transpersonal communication is a factor, especially when biological or health-related). Certain aspects of the dream state may seem strange and illogical but have known explanations inherent to the dream state itself. For example, the library and bookstore settings have a dream self essence that is closer to my current conscious self identity. That is a result of subliminal preparedness for using thinking skills that typically do not exist in the dream state, modes of thought that automatically vivify and clarify my dream (as the subconscious self is incapable of discerning spoken language, symbolism, numbers, or text unless subliminal, liminal, or lucid conscious threads are present). I knew this in childhood and was able to take advantage of it. The preparatory process is extant and dominant in this dream. I am in the Nundah bookstore with Zsuzsanna and our children as we appear now. The bookstore, as since childhood, is an anchor of my current conscious self. That is why I am aware of threads of my present life and marriage even if we have not been to the Nundah bookstore in many years in reality and its layout and appearance in my dream is erroneous in many ways. (Additionally, my focus on where we live is incorrect as is most often the case. I think of Barolin Street, where we have not lived in years, which was also in Bundaberg, not Brisbane. Once again, I find fascination with the multiple errors in specific combinations that my dreams never render more than once.) The bookstore has new and secondhand books and a lot of comic books. I walk past a section with history books. Before I look around, I tell our youngest son to come into the store, as he is standing in the heavy rain. Our middle son is outside as well but in the storefront portico. I consider that they may want to go home, but after several attempts, I get them to come into the store. I am calling them from about the center of the store rather than near the entrance. That may be because I am subliminally aware that a door is a dream’s exit point (though can be used to trigger or augment lucidity). I study many comic book covers, too numerous to describe in detail. I decide to buy four. The last one is a hardcover graphic novel wrapped in plastic. The price is $19.95. The cover features Spider-Man, in a black costume, with his left arm missing with some gore. The story relates to a long battle with Puma, similar to a comic book story I have not looked at or thought about for years. I see a display with four new comic books with different titles that have a related storyline. It relates to a new X-Men series. I consider buying one but decide not to, as I would have to buy them all to understand their continuity (which would be too expensive). I tell Zsuzsanna that the total is about fifty dollars. It is $35.94. Two are fifty cents, and another is $14.99. I notice Christmas decorations in one section of the bookstore. I see Zsuzsanna’s baby pram near the back of the store. We will be going home soon. Vestibular system correlation begins in the final scene, personifying as a young girl performing ballet in an open area that looks like the local library rather than a bookstore and where a few people are sitting at tables and reading. She does a cartwheel “into” me. I wake. There was a storm today, so my dream was correct about heavy rain coming when there has been hardly any rain for months.
I was drawing some comic books, and painting them only with red and blue colours.
02-21-2015 -- I am in the hallway in front of my bedroom at Rosemary's house, except my room is the first on the right side of the hall, instead of the left, and the hall is running E/W rather than N/S (I think.) The room is a disaster, with tons of papers and junk on the floor, and there is so much of it that a lot of it has slipped into the hallway, and I know this is going to really tick Rosemary off. So I get to work, grabbing and shoving all the stuff in the hallway into the room, then shut the door. It takes me about 2 minutes, and I am somehow feeling really proud of myself, so I decide to go tell Rosemary. I wander down the hall and walked past the kitchen and step down the two small steps leading into the living room. (No idea where this home layout comes from, by the way.) But when I get to the living room, I find that Rosemary/Bonnie (it is now a cross between the two) has got some sort of clown alley-type meeting going on. I duck out of the way and head back to my room, but as I get there, I discover we have relatives visiting, and they are poking all around the house. They go to open the door to my room, and I am trying to stop them as I don't want them to see the mess, but I find myself looking into a different, clean room. I pull the door shut and open it again, just long enough to glimpse the mess in my room. I shut it a third time and open it, to find myself looking in at one of the rooms that usually have two or three of the kids from other landlord dreams sleeping in them, and just kind of tilt my head in confusion. Seems each time the door is open, it leads to a different room. --- 02-20-2015 -- Vague memories of driving and chasing scenes, but can't remember any actual details, then I find myself in a huge pool or aquarium. There is a big red fish here, probably about five feet long, six inches wide, and about 10 or 12 inches deep. It's a vivid red, and looks quite gorgeous, but unfortunately is swallowed whole by perhaps a 12 foot long shark, that, after it eats the big red fish, seems to no longer be hungry, and wants to make friends with people. We are rather iffy about trusting it at all ... after all, what if it gets hungry again? So this big shark is swimming around, and it can't talk, but it kind of nudges us like a dog that wants to be petted might. Meanwhile there is a sort of small city here, currently sitting on top of the water with a sort of a fish-like man (greenish-gray skin, gills, scales, but man-shaped) who is glaring at us. He kind of blames us for the shark being around, as if we brought it here, and keeps trying to make his city sink under water, so we can't enter it and look around, because he's mad about the shark. Not too detailed, at least that I can remember, but sort of neat. --- 02-20-2015 -- I'm having some sort of interaction with KPSB's family, possibly originally at their home, but we very soon are at the Buena Park Mall. We're just wandering around, shopping, when I spot Kevin's sister, L, who seems to be talking with what looks like Emma Frost, the White Queen. I don't trust the evil woman, and worry she is corrupting L, so I am hovering near, trying to listen in on what they are saying. Emma is in one of her usual scandalous outfits, so I'm also rather enjoying the view. Unfortunately, they are starting to notice my attention, and begin to move away, so I try to turn invisible, so I can keep watching. It actually works fairly well this time. We're probably pretty close to Longs at this point, and they start walking toward Sears, then branch off to one of the main mall exits, and I try to stay close, but as I burst out the doors into the parking lot, they are nowhere in sight, and I realize they have gotten away, and I still have no idea what they were planning. Something about a little kid approaching me and hugging my leg or something, then I step back inside. It is evening, but not too late, and only 6 or 7, so still a couple of hours before the mall closes. There are dozens and dozens of booths set up selling things for the holiday, as well as the stores, but for some reason, they are all starting to pack up the goods and tear down the booths, and with a couple of hours left before closing, it just doesn't make sense to me ... but oh well. I start walking toward May Company, and glance into Waldenbooks as I pass, but today I have no interest in stepping inside. As I am about to step through the doors into May Company, I find myself facing a Chinese dragon. Not a huge, mythical animal, but the parade costume thing. I try to squeeze to the side and slip past it, but one of the people in the large head (which has about six people in a sort of semi-circle carrying it) calls out to me, and turns out to be an attractive Chinese girl I know. (Actually, I don't think I know any Chinese girls, oh well.) She's asking me something about what I'm doing, and it in some way brings up the topic of balloons, and I mention that I can twist balloons. They don't believe me, so I start looking around. Either part of the dragon or separate, there are some uninflated balloons and things around, and I keep picking up several looking for one I can blow up and twist to prove myself. Unfortunately most are broken, and the few that are not are old and weak, and as soon as I try to blow them up, they break. Then if I can find a whole one, I know just how hard they are to blow up without a pump. Then I find one that is already blown up, and I figure I can demonstrate with it, but it is completely filled up, so there is no room for the air to go anywhere as I twist it, which makes it even harder to deal with. Still, I manage a couple of twists and turn to show them, just to find the dragon and all it's carriers have walked off. Oh well. I walk into May Company, and wake up before I reach the other end of the store.
Updated 02-21-2015 at 07:17 PM by 57040
Morning of February 7, 2014. Friday. In my dream, I am brought in as a murder suspect of an unknown teenage female. I spend most of my time in my dream standing at a counter (walking a short distance from it now and then in the same large room) of a type very similar to the local library’s but inverted (the setting already being a clue that my dream will resolve to “choosing books”); that is, forming an inward angle of over one-hundred-ten degrees (not ninety; that is, not a square angle as the counter’s division relative to the two walls is not perpendicular), spanning across a corner of a large room, though the counter section on the left is of a shorter length. There are two main (unfamiliar) male investigators that go through various role-playing and questioning sessions with me, sometimes seemingly forgetting what they were saying or doing (or planning to do). It seems that nearly a day goes by, and I spend all my time standing or walking and am even clearly aware of the tiredness in my legs later on. One of the reasons I was brought in as a suspect was because I was “chubby”. Their reasoning is that someone who is chubbier is “naturally” more likely to overtake a weaker or smaller person. I am eventually vividly aware that they are wasting their time to too great of an extent for it to be a “real” investigation and at one point they also seem aware of this, but I seemingly am meant to have patience as if it is a game. I have no clear thoughts on who the actual criminal might be, although I do sense he is possibly a very chubby older single male. I tend to waver between complaining in a hostile manner to expressing a patient understanding of their methods. I am asked to write my version of something the older detective says to see if my writing matches a note the killer supposedly wrote and left near the victim in writing style as well as what I write. He tells me that I do not have to write exactly what he says but how I would naturally write my version of what he says, which is quite strange because one of the choices is to write “jellyfish” or not write it - something about writing “this is why all jellyfish should die” or write a similar phrase and leaving out “jellyfish” (there is no clue what the killer actually wrote) which will give them the evidence of whether or not it was me. However, I do not finish this test as the detectives are distracted and thus they go off on a tangent to some other concerns not related to the killing. I am also considering if the crime took place before I was born, but that reasoning does not seem to matter to them even if true. The younger detective talks about his mistakes and regrets of the past in similar work he had done before, although does not go into detail. I start to suspect that about twenty-five percent of people in jail never committed a crime. A few times I yell at them in frustration but am also laughing at a few points, even feeling a bit giddy as if I cannot believe how incompetent they are, including with their fill-in-the-blanks mentality and overwhelming proclivity to fabricate or be mistaken in environmental or personal cues. Sometimes they seem like buffoons, other times more focused on their work. Sometimes they seem to be testing my reaction on questions that make no sense. I do get very annoyed over time and wonder why I happen to be the only one in the situation. I suppose it is possible that other suspects are being questioned or tested in other rooms, but I sense that this is somehow not the case. If it is not proven to be me, perhaps the investigation will not even continue. At one point, I see a large cardboard box someone brings in which has a thinner purple blanket and somewhat formal-looking yellow (with white lacy trim) clothes - a shorter dress and blouse, I think. The blanket is sparsely woven of yarn (but commercially produced I assume), in a way that about twenty-five percent of it is open stitching so that you can mostly see through it, somewhat like a much lighter thinner afghan blanket. I am not familiar with the materials at all. They look like they might have been in the ground for a time. I stand there patiently but am not questioned on the materials as they may just be testing my reaction. Later, they seem to have at least seven or eight old comic books; the same ones owned from when I was about nine or ten years old. Supposedly, I had written my full name inside each book on the first panel of each comic (which I never did in real life), near the top and in neat cursive in blue ink. They are all Harvey comics and all of Spooky the Tuff Little Ghost - with a supposedly “fictional” one (though it was real) of Spooky playing pool and cheating. I guess people interested in collecting comic books and playing pool are also likely murder suspects. From here, my dream mostly falls into somewhat abstract thinking relating to my puzzlement over the similarity of the different comic book covers as I begin to see additional Hot Stuff covers in addition to the Spooky ones. What is curious is that, thanks to research, I learned something I had not known. I thought I had all issues of Spooky when I was younger - but I had been missing one (likely due to the similarity of a cover of a comic book I already had). Coincidentally, the only one I was missing had a similar gag as the “Devil Kids” one I did have - that is, the main character going through a pool table - Spooky going through in a ghostly way and Hot Stuff burning his way through. Even more intriguing and somewhat amusing - I was seemingly taught in a subtle way by my dream - about a facet of “normal” (or consensus-based) human consciousness. There is apparently another “version” of the “same” Hot Stuff cover in real life that is missing the point entirely (although he is using his trident as a pool cue, which is supposed to be the gag in this case though also seems a missed variation on the other one where he uses a normal pool cue which would likely burn up) and he is at the pool table without any significant sight gag other than the trident as the “pool stick” (with no burning in to cheat). In my opinion, the ideal cover would have been burning through the table while using his trident as the “pool stick”. I have seen this fairly often in my life; that is, people writing, drawing, or copying the aspects of something in this way and missing the main point (although I do understand that metaphors and word plays and even certain types of sight gags or particular intent of images do not translate into other languages or even for certain types of people; for example - there is a well-known old Australian poster that conveys something different than intended - see bottom image in this post). My dream was partly influenced by a track I was working on about a year ago where an African chant seems to reflect a set of English phrases: “Johnny not wait, ooh ooh, why wait, he wanna play pool” and including the line “patience is a virtue”. Sometimes I am amazed at how meaningful and intricate dreams are and literally revelatory (not symbolic) once you examine them more closely. I also noticed that the in-dream blanket was the same purple as the background color in the Spooky cover and the title in yellow as with the in-dream clothes.
Updated 12-16-2016 at 05:07 AM by 1390
Original journal entry dated July 7th, 2002: A lot of people, including me, were going to this one medieval fair thing, and we all had to dress up and stuff. It was really more like a medieval fantasy deal so I was dressed up as a wizard, or something. Anyway, there was the outer fair, which was free, and then the inner fair with all of the special events was behind a wall, and you had to pay a lot of money to get in. I had a sort of miniquest thing where I had to collect various issues of Dragonball, except that I kept getting the same issue over and over again, and it was very frustrating. There was this mad scientist type guy who lived in a tower and he had an issue I really needed, but in return for giving me the issue I had to live there forever. So I figured I'd take the issue, and then run away. Then S__ and everybody else wanted to go to the inner fair and left me behind because I didn't want to pay that much money. A group of people and I tried to sneak in by crawling along the rooftops to get over the wall, but for some reason the old principal from Highschool was chasing us, and we had to get down and hide. So finally, I gave in and bought a ticket, although the real reason for it was sort of different, because in my dream I had this boyfriend (and hell if I remember what he looked like, it was just one of those things that you know when you're in a dream) and I knew this one other girl was after him, and it sort of pissed me off. I got into the fair and she was hanging all over him, and I got mad at another friend of mine for not doing anything about it since he was supposed to be my friend and look out for me. Then the dream sort of shifted and I had to enroll in a school there, and in order to do that I had to get the old crazy scientist guy's signature. So I got it and went to the highschool and tried to enroll but it turned out that I had to go and get the principal's signature too and fill out a form to enroll, and he had the forms, and his office was in the fair, and it was too late to go there because it was closed. But I was allowed to go to all of the classrooms and decide which classes I wanted to take. I went to the language class because a language class was required, except they didn't have spanish, they only had japanese, and I didn't know anything and didn't have a text book. And then I did something wrong I think, and the teacher made me stay after class and said I couldn't leave the classroom until she told me to. For some reason it was then that I realized that I was not wearing any pants at all, but merely had my Star Wars comforter wrapped around the lower portion of my body, and I thought about how silly I must have looked and how drafty it was. In any case, the teacher had to leave to do something, and I got bored and left the classroom anyway because I wasn't supposed to, and some kids started bullying me and took my backpack, so I got mad and beat them up. Then one of the other teachers came along and I got in a lot of trouble, but everything was cleared up and they let me go. I was waiting for my ride, but didn't see the car anywhere, and then wondered if my ride really WAS there but I didn't recognize the car... ...then, for some reason, I was at my grandmother's house. Except it was more like a church, and had pews, but they were all lined up in front of a fireplace. We were supposed to be singing hymns and she got mad at me because I kept interrupting. Then she made everybody move and rearrange themselves on the pews, and I got in trouble for goofing off because I was playing with a raisin.
07-12-2013 -- Before I lose it, guess I ought to get this one down. I am trying to make left hand turns at busy intersections while on roller skates, I think, and there is a lot of heavy traffic, which is making it difficult. I am doing my best to be quick, and stay out of the way of cars, and move quickly, but while I am doing so, there are others (on skates or boards, or just pedestrians) that are getting in the way or moving a lot slower, or doing whatever else they can to make things more difficult. I am reaching a couple of intersections like that, and the second one is turning off of Beach Blvd and on to La Palma, heading over toward the Buena Park Mall, and the pedestrians are still getting in the way, and holding things up when the light turns green, but I do my best to ignore everybody else, and just get moving, so I won't be in the way. So I turn on to La Palma, skating as fast as I can, but as I proceed down the block to Stanton, I am now driving the Jimmy, but I find I have a flat tire. It is the front driver's side tire, and I just had it replaced two days ago, so I find myself getting furious that the tire is bad again, already. So I am pulling the car over, and I suddenly find myself reading a comic book. It is a Spider-Man comic book, and I find that Spider-Man is facing off against Doctor Octopus, and moment by moment the comic is coming more and more to life, and I am turning into Spider-Man, but I only have part of my powers, and Octopus is at his strongest, so I am trying to stay out of sight and catch my breath. Meanwhile, I am running down the street in a sort of old west type of setting, and I run into this saloon, and find myself running up a slightly curving staircase as I glance over at a stage, and I realize I know this place. I am running through the Golden Horseshoe, even though I am not at Disney. It is not that it is really somehow the Golden Horseshoe, but that the comic book artist copied the building, changed the name, and threw the story in there as a sort of tribute. [It was like an issue of the comic Night Man, which had a running battle taking place in a fictional amusement park ... but if you really know Disneyland, you recognize the ramp leading up to the Space Mountain line.] Anyway, I soon find myself dodging around back stage behind this Golden Horseshoe look-alike location, trying to stay out of sight and out of mind while thinking up a method of fighting off Doc Ock that will allow me to win. I feel like I need to pull off one of those victories where Spidey tells Ock "You were at your strongest, and I was at my weakest, and I still beat you. I will always beat you. So quit fighting against me!" But I just don't know how I am going to manage it. Meanwhile, Octopus is starting to threaten some of the can-can girls, and I realize that, plan or not, I am going to have to make a stand. So I launch myself at Ock and just start fighting away!
01-10-2013 -- [First dream of the night worth remembering. May have been earlier bits, but if so, not a single hint of them in my memory.] I am taking the NCIS team on a sort of a team building exercise which is supposed to end in a giant orgy. We're driving around in a van much like my roommate Randy's vehicle, on our way to a phony hostage situation, yet I am the only one who seems to realize it is phony. The others just don't get it. We drive down a long, tree-lined road in an out of the way area, then turn in to a small sub-division, me calling out directions to Gibbs (who is driving) while he talks on his radio with 'the agency' we're working with for this team building exercise. Soon we come to a roadblock of police cars about one house past the house where a couple of shooters are holed up, shooting at the cops outside. A couple of team members take the back, and a couple of us take the front. I look carefully, and can see one shooter firing out the front door, but it takes a while to spot the other, shooting between the blinds of an upstairs window. I don't have a gun, so I'm waiting for a time when things slow down enough (both gunmen having to reload at the same time) that I can rush the house, and at first I am ignored, then the upstairs gunman notices me, and starts to take aim. I spot him, and move into cover in a large bush, and he is leaning further and further out the window, trying to get me in his site. He seems to be kind of leaning out against a fairly frail tree limb, and suddenly *CRACK* he goes flying through the air in perhaps a 15 foot arc, crashing to the ground and dropping his weapon. I call out that he's lost his weapon and go running for it, but he is still closer to it. He picks the thing up and starts to aim at me, and I'm calling out that he has it again, thinking I'm dead, when *BANG*, Gibbs shoots him from behind me. He's already taken care of the gunman in the doorway, and we're all now heading inside to scout out the building. Ziva has been injured, and is resting in a chair, Tony and McGee are taking the downstairs, and Gibbs and I are scouting the upstairs. But it isn't at all like it is supposed to be. These are supposed to be really posh rooms, very high class, with lots of beds, hot tubs, and lots of people having sex for us to join in with. Instead, the place is empty, and looks like a poorly maintained Days Inn, or perhaps worse. There is black mold everywhere, almost all the beds are water beds, and they are leaking so if you try and lay in them, you'll be soaked. Half the upstairs is in the middle of renovations, with sawdust and wooden beams everywhere. An absolute mess. I decide to make the most of a bad situation, and head back downstairs. Ziva has fallen asleep in the recliner she was sitting in, and I pick her up in my arms and explain I'll take her upstairs to the one good room, so she can rest peacefully, all the while admiring her legs in the slightly short skirt she is wearing. I carry her upstairs and place her in the one bed that doesn't seem to be leaking, then start to undress. As I do, Ziva comes to, and asks me what's going on. I remind her of the training exercise and tell her she took a bump, and that I brought her up here to relax and maybe have some fun. By this time, I am very close, and lean in to kiss her, and she doesn't seem to have any objections. She does, however, ask what the ground rules are, and how far we want to take this. I tell her that is her decision, but I smile as she says "All the way." So we're kissing passionately and undressing each other. I've just managed to remove her top, and am studying her breasts, while telling her how lovely she is, when Tony busts through the door, muttering some of the things we've been saying back and forth in a high falsetto, and we're ready to kill him for spying on us. Turns out the rooms are wired for sound and video, and they have been sitting around in the lobby watching us, but now Gibbs is calling us down for a different kind of action. But we're still going to kill Tony! When we get downstairs, we find a sort of dining room with several small, square tables. The whole team is there, including, oddly, McKenzie from NCIS: Los Angeles. She is reading a poem, something very Dr Seuss-like, except it is complete gibberish, and makes no sense. The grammar is also very poor, and Ziva is going nuts trying to correct it with her ever-improving knowledge of English grammar and idioms, but she can't get anywhere, since as I said, it is complete nonsense. I glance at her, and see a large wood spider dangling from her ear almost like an earring, and ask her what she thinks of spiders. She admits she isn't fond of them, but doesn't have a particular problem with them as I try to brush it out of her hair. It is a fairly large spider, it's body maybe an inch and a half by a half inch, with long legs, and at first I am thinking it is a non-venomous variety, but moment by moment it is shifting, looking more like a venomous version, and then even morphing into a scorpion, crawling on her hand, but thankfully not biting her. Somehow things just shift, and I am now on the new case, which seems to involve something about comic books. At first I am looking at sheets of paper with the pages printed on them, but unbound. Then it turns to more and more sheets, some in three ring binders, some in matchbook covers, oddly enough. I am running down the street chasing some that seem to be blowing in the wind, and have to stop and study a number of squares of toilet paper to be sure they aren't printed on those. Soon I find I am facing some odd sort of version of Ultron (in this dream, a silvery robot) as I am turning into Captain America. I have a white, clay-like substance in my hands, and I am kneading it and rolling it into a kind of miniature shield, then it very quickly enlarges and hardens into an almost indestructible form, ready for use. I find myself facing off against numerous bad guys in three trucks, right in front of Marie's house, down near Greenleaf. There is a truck running right for me, and I use magic or psi powers (not sure which) to create a kind of force field so it can't reach me, right about the time it blows up. There is another truck behind it, filled with gunmen who are trying to shoot me, and that truck blows up as well, the gunmen being caught in the blast and burning alive, before turning into some sort of undead zombie types, as another truck behind blows up. Though I can't see him, there is a hint of Ultron doing a Green Goblin sort of thing with pumpkin bombs. The whole thing seems to be on some sort of time loop, as I find myself arriving, raising the force shield, and watching the guys turning into zombies two or three times before I wake up.
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