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Morning of August 13, 2015. Thursday.



In my semi-lucidity, seemingly very late at night, I am aware that my dream environment is only half-rendered. Thus, without focusing that much, or sharpening my awareness with any intent, I do not really feel like getting up and walking into another part of the house, as I will probably just trip and fly forward and become half-awake, as in typical first-stage light sleep paralysis dreams from night to night. Still, for whatever reason, it does not dawn on me that this dream type does not usually render my present home in any discernible way and is usually an area in a city, outside, where I most often find myself walking down the sidewalk. So, already my critical thinking skills are not functioning.

Not knowing what else to do (again, not being that focused), I continue to work on my computer. Still, I am somewhat suspicious of the technology being feasible in any dream state (where electronic devices sometimes explode into small smoking embers with amazing “realism”). In the back of my mind, I am somewhat aware that this “other world” has Gothic attributes. I feel a slight wariness. I am aware of a presence that is very different to me, like a feature of another world becoming known for the first time. It is very eerie, yet I also somehow sense love and joy at the same time; perhaps some orphan domain of Steampunk consciousness blended with something else.

A strange sound occurs, increasing smoothly in volume. It is every chimney in the (fictional) neighborhood suddenly “singing” in some sort of low-pitched hollow reed-like frequency, somewhat like a sustained pipe-organ note, but layered (overdubbed) to an extreme. Is it wind somehow speedily and heavily flowing through every chimney in the region? It is almost like a ghostly human chorus. Again, the pitch is very low, but some of the layers are slightly off the pitch by enough cent variation to give it a barely noticeable flange effect. The volume of this chimney “chorus” increases until it is “filling the world” with some sort of intended beginning vigil, perhaps. I am not sure how to mentally respond or take note, assuming I should. It almost reminds me of a factory steam whistle slowed down exponentially and layered infinitely. I remain puzzled; I get the ambiguous association of rows of churches with factory steam whistles calling the public masses into uniformity. Then there is silence.