14th January 2021 Fragment: Something about being at a family gathering of some sort. The house is a mix of my old home and my aunt B's house. My siblings are here but I don't recall the room we're in. We play some kind of reality-blended game in which I am looking for gold to be found under floor tiles. I remember we discuss some game statistics. I cut up some tile and beneath I find copper pipe for water and am slightly disappointed and relieved I didn't cut through it. In the kitchen, which looks like the oldest version of the one from the old home, I see some kind of little poster or card about mood and being sorry from my aunt. Vague recall of using one of those rounded metal body box cutters. The atmosphere was like the blinds were all rolled down but allowing light through. There was a warm look of light that I haven't seen for some time now.
Morning of May 18, 2017. Thursday. I am sitting on our bed in an informal meditation position, but the location is not certain (though it seems to be implied to be our present home, though it is not familiar or like any real location I have ever been). There are a large number of pieces of paper of various sizes and colors as well as a few different thicknesses. I am preparing to start making a fold-out paper diorama I had helped design (based on a real-life educational task I had created) and I have softly folded an A4 sheet so that I can cut it out as a square (though only for use as a test template to work with one of our sons). I cut out the square and place it aside. In a short time, I realize that I had somehow misplaced the paper square. I become more and more frustrated over not being able to find what I had just made. I sort through the paper scraps, but it seems futile. I cannot accept that it has somehow vanished, but that seems to be the case. Zsuzsanna is in an adjoining room. An unknown female comes in. I notice she seems familiar (but is really not). Her eyes are two different colors. Her left eye is a bright light blue and her right eye is dark brown (possibly meant to express both pairs of eyes of my parents). I am not sure why she is here but I do not feel that imposed upon. She is with Zsuzsanna anyway. Still, I start to make very strange noises of frustration, almost as if I am having physical pain, though my own voice actually sounds somewhat comedic to me, sounding like “bluh bluh bluh” at one point. I do not leave the bed at any time. I get an impression that it might be Easter. Something vanishing or morphing in my dreams has been very common since earliest memory. It is so common (and continuous in first dreams of a period, including hypnagogia), it probably does not have any significant symbolism, especially when it relates to distortions of real events. At any rate, visual morphing is so rapid, it cannot even be reasonably documented (such as when a dream character changes identity at the rate of about twice per second, shifting through over a hundred or more different appearances, which is one of my lucidity triggers).
I was looking at a table. A woman was cutting vegetables/fruits, and then she wipes them to a white trash bag, explaining that it's the same (?). Eating or doing something is the same as making the effort of cutting the fruits/vegetables and then just throwing them. I'm unclear what she meant about eating or doing. I was looking at a phone's screen. Facebook? I was looking for good wallpaper. There were green-themed ones. I was at sea. There was a battle. Or rather, it's years after the battle and people are experiencing a peaceful time. But trouble is brewing. "I" was an old man (in third person). I was giving counsel to the people (one at a time, groan). Something came up. A fight? A battle at sea. Underwater. I think this was before the peaceful time.
My body hurts, and I feel a bit suffocated. I look down at myself and see thick rusty chains gripping my arms and upper body. I realize that I'm chained to a wall. A brick wall, to be exact. My feet are suspended about 2 feet from the ground. Strangely though, the hanging bit doesn't really hurt, only the tight pressure from the chains. There is a flickering light bulb hanging above me. I cannot see anything farther than 5 feet or so. There's just darkness. I try to squirm, in hopes of loosening the chains that are constricting me. It doesn't budge, so I give up and just go limp. A few seconds later, I hear footsteps. Then I see a man coming up to me. It's Dean Winchester from that show "Supernatural". He is wearing boots, jeans and a plaid shirt with a jacket over it. I notice a knife in his left hand -- it's one of those huge carving knives that I see on cooking shows. It looks brand new too. I feel very scared, because I know he's gonna torture me, but I don't utter a word. He is just staring blankly at my face, in a zombie-ish way. He comes closer and tugs the chains down. Instantly, they fall to the ground. However, even though I'm free from the chains, I'm still stuck against the wall, hanging and unable to move. It even feels like the chains are still there. Dean suddenly grabs my left arm and slices it with the knife. The cut is about 3 inches long, and it looks very deep. It starts bleeding profusely. The bleeding itself doesn't hurt or anything, but the slicing part does. It's like that disturbing feeling you get when you hear the sound of a metallic object being rubbed against glass. Or that spine-tingling feeling you get from nails scratching a chalkboard. The cutting part truly feels painful. I close my eyes and start crying. As I'm sobbing silently, Dean slices me again -- this time on my right arm. I jerk at sting of the knife penetrating my skin. I don't dare to open my eyes. SSSSSSK. Another slice on my left arm. SSSSSSSK. On my clavicle. SSSSSSSK SSSSSSK. Two more slices. I can't even remember where he cut me anymore. All I know is that I'm probably gonna bleed to death, and that I'll die hanging on this brick wall. I keep closing my eyes, whimpering at every cut he makes. I'm not sure for how long it went on. The next thing I know, I wake up in my bed, sweating like I just ran a marathon. But even then, I could still remember how every cut and slice felt -- torturous and agonizing.
I was sitting in the back row of my current Enlgish teachers classroom. All of the people who are in my class were turned, facing forward and completely quiet, though my teacher wasn't in the classroom. I was sitting sideways in my seat, and the boy I liked came in the room. He came to the back of the room and went to the teachers desk and leaned over it. He pulled out a knife and began cutting himself, and at a point he said my name and I looked up. He smiled, looking in my eyes, and cut his knuckle with the knife. My eyes went wide and I started shaking. I wrapped my arms around myself. He wiped his blood off on his jacket and gave me it. (I guess he thought I was cold?) He also dropped the knife he was using on top of the jacket. Then he turned and started walking toward the front of the classroom. I slipped his knife in my pocket, vowing to keep him from doing it anymore. I held his jacket, and turned the right way in my desk, staring at it. He must have sensed something was wrong, because he turned around and crouched down behind my desk and asked me if I was okay. I said "no", and motioned towards his wrist, wishing he wouldn't have hurt himself. He showed it to me, and the cuts were just scars. That hit me as wrong, and I turned to face him, confused. I stared down at my shoes, still confused, and noticed they were a very old pair of shoes. I thought, "I wish I had my Converse on." and then they were my Converse. The guy I liked was staring at my shoes too, apparently, because he said, "Your shoes just magically changed.." That was when I realized I was controlling my dream, and I just said, "Yeah. That was weird." And he nodded. There was more to it, but I've forgotten it.
In this next clip, I am not included. However, I can see everything clearly through the lens of a video camera. I can tell I am watching a home video taken by a wife of her husband and son. They are on a yacht, sailing around in a little lake on a sunny day. The husband is sitting in a plastic lawn chair by the edge of the boat, but I can’t see his head. The camera is focused on his leg. In his hand he holds a large knife. He stretches his leg out on the long chair, and makes a long, deep cut in his leg. Almost instantly his innards spill out of his leg like a bucket of chum being poured out, and it falls into the ocean, leaving a flappy skin-baggy leg behind. The man doesn’t stop there, he continues to mutilate himself. This time, he makes a wide gash across his stomach. Again, his guts and muscles and everything else pour out of him, leaving a skin bag stomach. The little son is crying and screaming in the background. “Daddy, please stop!” he shouts, but the father continues. “Whee, isn’t this fun?” says the mother.
Updated 06-17-2011 at 09:54 AM by 34686
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