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The Break Room Sessions

A group of workers meet up at the break room og their office to do spoken word sessions, all behind the company's back. Each employee has a poem representing a different emotion.
This one employee is the master at it and is the one organising the break room sessions.

A podcast becomes available with each poem. This one black guy warns the poem master that he's getting on dangerous levels as the company does not approve of the break room sessions and if they ever find out, he's in big trouble to which the master makes fun of his drumsticks that he always beings for lunch, the guy defending his drumsticks saying that they're a very nutritious meal.

One day they all visit the break room with the master nowhere to be seen, a woman, unsure if an ally or not, calls for the employees through the intercom. In her office, she explains to the colleagues that the company found out and took some measures. Unsure whether the master got fired or transferred to a different floor, the guy takes his drum sticks out of his lunch box and enters the elevator saying that this is all his fault. The colleagues follow him trying to cheer him up as he looks at them while the elevator door closes.

My alarm then went off.

I’m in a classroom – it’s unclear at what level – seated at a desk in a group of at least four desks pushed together, two rows facing each other. I’m writing a poem. It isn’t for the class, though: class doesn’t seem to be in session at the moment, and there isn’t a teacher around.

I’ve just finished the poem – the first draft, at least. All I can remember about its contents now is that it was entitled something like “The Return” or “The Returning,” and the first line was “Something has happened.” The guy sitting diagonal from me, who seems to be somebody I know, wants to see it. I tell him that first I have to make sure it’s legible for people other than me, and after a minute of looking it over and making some lines clearer and darker, I hand it to him. (The other people in the group of desks seem to be paying attention, but in a passive way.)

He reads it and says something to me that implies that he sees the “something” that happened as some negative event that hangs over the rest of the poem. I tell him that that reading works – but the poem is (sort of) about the Olympics. It’s not actually in the text, but it’s not too deeply buried. He’s having trouble seeing it, so I tell him to imagine that I’ve titled it something like “The Olympic Games” instead.

He reads, and then, seemingly struck by some idea, he takes out a pen (I wrote with a pencil) and writes something on the paper. He thinks I ought to call it “Das Entspannen” instead. He (correctly and unnecessarily) translates this as “The Relaxing” but then also claims (and this bit is pure dream logic) that it’s also a subtle reference to haddock, whose migration routes recall the original title’s idea of returning.

Our attention is then drawn to other events taking place in the room, and I wake up shortly afterwards.

7.28.21

Morning of August 20, 2018. Monday.

Reading time: 53 sec. Readability score: 74.



I am closer to the liminal space of the waking process, but there are no threads of lucidity. My clueless infra-self is in bed at our present address.

Threads of my conscious self do not make much effort to create detail. I see only an expanse of floorboards, implying a much larger area beyond our bed than exists in reality.

Vague ideas about dogs and how they represent control of the dream state occur. (Again, I am not lucid, so this is infra-control.) A black dog’s head pushes up through the floorboards and moves left to right almost as if it is swimming like a person (as the other floorboards make way for it). I only ever see its front half. After a time, it becomes an unfamiliar man, seen from the chest up, who begins reading cheerful poetry from a small book he is holding.

---

In real life, neighbors’ dogs sometimes used to run under our house and bump their heads against the bottoms of the floorboards (though now we have a fence across all areas). One of our cats was making noise under the house recently as well. The concept of reading (though usually regarding me trying to read) is an attempt to achieve more awareness while in the dream state. It is something I have practiced since early childhood.

---

I'm lying in the middle of a dark room, trying to sleep. But it’s not very comfortable there since I don’t have a pillow or blankets or anything else except the (possibly carpeted) floor. As I lie there, a piece of music comes into my mind—“Night on Bald Mountain.” It’s not as if I’m thinking of it: rather it’s as if it’s pushing all the other thoughts out of my head until it’s the only thing there, even though it's clearly in my head and not actually playing.

It plays for a few bars, and then, just as the horn blasts the first note of the melody, I hear a loud crash from outside. A jolt of alarm—but it lasts only for a moment. The noise I heard sounds just like the falling branch did a couple weeks ago, when the winds came through, and it seems likely to me that that’s what happened now. But I reflect that that was odd, about it matching the melody—almost as if, on some level, I knew the crash was going to happen in advance.

I’m not sure what series of events came in between this and the next dream I can remember clearly, but my memory picks up shortly after attaining lucidity somehow. I step through a door out into a hallway—tile floors, completely bare, and several wooden doors, including one with a window in it at the end of the hall. Through the window, I can see some sort of colorful projection on the wall, like a screen. I head towards it and open the door.

The room turns out to be a mid-sized lecture hall, with the seats and desks in a semicircular amphitheater arrangement. A few students are scattered throughout, and although there doesn’t seem to be a teacher here, a PowerPoint presentation is going. It seems to be a presentation on poetry.

An idea occurs to me: I’ll write down what I see and then try to record as much of it as I can in my dream journal once I’m awake. Granted, most of it looks like the sort of word salad you might except the subconscious mind on autopilot to kick out, but it could still be interesting. I forage around for something to write on but turn up with nothing but a pencil and some kind of treated animal skin, which is pretty far from ideal, but I figure I can try writing on the leathery side. I slip into a seat in the back row and start taking notes.

I have a good half “page” or so written by the time I wake up—with no warning, as usual. But I find I can’t remember any of it—not even the one line that actually seemed striking to me as I was recording it. The only thing I can remember from the whole presentation was the centipug (to give an appropriate name to it)—the clipart-ish picture of a pug with many sets of legs that was at the bottom of one of the slides. Funny how that works.

13.3.18

A meeting is taking place beside a river between a knight and a woman. His name is Gawain. Her name is Lotus. It seems like the beginning of a relationship between them. But she can see into the future, and she knows that one day, he will kill her. And yet, she doesn't attempt to break things off.

I am seeing things from his perspective and from hers, and also from somewhere outside of it, where I don’t like the way things are going. And so I pull the scene apart, untangling all the little mental streams that are contributing to it and recombining them into three separate bundles. It will be easier to work with this way, I figure. Now I am in the kitchen of my old house in M--- with my mother, preparing a meal. I’m making the salads. But as I tear the lettuce into smaller pieces, I can still see the river there, and a little point of red light shining in the grass beside it. It’s easy to see and easy to avoid, but it still makes me uneasy.

In a different dream, I’m in a grocery store, although the building seems to be serving multiple functions. I’m there shopping with Saimi’s little sister, who seems to be around seven years old. After a while, I figure I’ll let her take care of a few things. She gets to do something all on her own, I get to read for a little bit—it seems like a pretty good arrangement. I tell her to pick out some plums—maybe three, whatever kind looks nice—and I sit down at a table there with my book of Rilke’s poetry, which I apparently have with me. She goes off and comes back a few minutes later with a single plum in a plastic bag. She places it on the table and then leaves again. A few minutes later, she’s back with another plum in a bag. Kids. You know there’s got to be some sort of weird logic behind this.

But now something else seems to be happening: there’s going to be a horse race here, inside the building, and Saimi’s little sister is participating, along with three other people. But the horse she’s on is a rather strange one: it seems to be made of some embroidered red material with yellow patterns in it, while still behaving like a living horse. But the race doesn’t begin immediately, and I awaken before it actually takes place.

Dream 1: I was getting some pepperoni pizza. I got 4 slices, but I wanted more. It actually occurred to me that hey, I can just make it into a whole pizza. So I did, and it turned into a whole pizza.

However, this strange lapse of logicality did nothing to help me become lucid! I didn't fully recognize that I was dreaming, yet I was able to manipulate my environment in ways that I can't do in reality. Very interesting, and so close but not quite!

Dream 2: My poetry professor was talking to me and was pretty nice, and I was still angry at him for giving me a B+ in his class. </3

A very vague dream of walking in a park like area on a grey day, I cross roads and each time I do a line of poetry comes to mind. How they went exactly escapes me but they went something along the lines of "my mind wanders over crossroads", "it looks for a place to hide", "all my friends are crazy or dead".

I was lying down on a sofa in the living room of our house in our hometown, the place where I also had a lucid dream. I hear poetry/music. It was my voice. It was rhyming. The words were clear but I worried I won't be able to remember when I wake up. I tried to semi-wakeup to check if I was really dreaming or if it was music. I realized I was dreaming. I tried to remember but got worried, and the last two lines became unclear. The voice was clear but the words weren't. It then suddenly stopped.

I got stuck in the dream lying on my left. I can't see anything but a pattern of sorts. A clothing pattern? A corner? I heard a voice asking me what I was doing with my eyes. It was my sister. I told her I'm dreaming right now so this happens. I knew I was dreaming so I calmly waited out the vision impairment problem. It cleared up but I "woke up" in another dream.

I was in some place. A mall? It was night. I played a game or a few games at the arcade. (reminiscent of the first scene in Animorphs book series) I played some fighting games. Somehow, it affected reality.

I was on the road. I was inside a car. I saw a u-turn ahead, although I think I heard myself or someone else say it's a circle. There's a superhighway above us. All the cars ahead are going our direction including those that are supposed to be on our lane, which caused a traffic problem.

Notes:

- Slept at around 2 p.m., woke up at around 3:30 p.m.
- No alarm
- Listened to Kelly McGonigal's default mode meditation, fell asleep in the middle, woke up with it finished already although I thought I didn't fall asleep
- The visual meditation might not be a good idea for dream recall and lucid dreaming...

Black: Non-dream
Blue: Non-lucid
Red: Lucid

Couldn't write this up yesterday, had trouble getting onto DV.

The whole night of dreaming felt stressful, like there was just some part of each dream that made me stressed out.

Dream 1 - Poetic Racing
Intensely sporadic images of random animated over-the-top car racing, similar to the movie 'Redline' (which I had watched before going to bed). Insanely nonsensical, there was poetry too that felt unfinished. Like the sentences had been started but were left hanging.

Dream 2 - Geology Field Camp
Out in the paddock there's something like 50+ tents full of students. We're camping out on farmland for the 2 week field trip as part of a university paper. I get up during the night to go take a leak, but I just couldn't find a good place to go. I ended up going further than I needed to, and I must have woken some of the other students up. They came up to me and asked me where I was going and I told them I was looking for a good place to go, they joked around a bit saying stuff like 'why'd you walk out so far man' and I agreed, since I thought it was dumb and odd too (possibly an inkling of the feeling I may be dreaming). I then head back to find a closer place to go, they kick a shovel my way that I can use to dig a hole or something, and I whistle back in thanks. Unfortunately, my whistling triggers a super loud alarm which wakes everyone up! "Oh come on Alex! Jesus what the hell man", I just feel super stressed out, like 'oh god...' I just knew it was going to piss everyone off and they'd be talking shit about be for ages.

Dream Fragment
Somewhere at school, my friends showed up but it was really awkward due to an old 'love triangle' we used to have. The guy was dating the girl and we nearly had a fight because of the history.

Dream 3 - Airport
Me and my mum are driving to the airport, crazy random stuff starts happening to some of stuff the in the scenery, it just changes each time I look. The planes at the airport change into words, the change into vibrant colours, they stretch out, shrink, flatten, enlarge, and move to random places. The then change into beautiful retarded white horses, one of which was walking backwards with its head on the ground. We arrive at the airport and try to find a parking space, but they're all taken. We see a car back out and move in to try take the space, but we're outside the car now and the car has shrunken to the size of a book. I position it in the parking space which just feels to narrow, and there is an Indian man with his daughter sitting in a trolley, he's texting and is oblivious to our efforts of parking. He also happens to be quite close and when I finally manage to re-enlarge the car (first I had tried to wet it by rubbing saliva on it. Weird. Then I threw it on the ground) it nearly clipped the daughter in the trolley. The Indian man had a rant off at me and I had to remind him it was his fault, since he was texting and should have being paying attention (Sounds pretty harsh, but he wasn't very nice). Me and my mum continue into the airport, which appears to be more like a supermarket. I tell my mum that we should check out the horses and see if its safe to show to my daughter, we head over there but now they've changed AGAIN. One of them looks like a unicorn, one of them has a rhino horn. Some of them have long blonde flowing hair. Some of them look like rhinos, one had a fake rhino nose and long blonde hair. There was also a pygmy horse with stumpy little legs galloping around, all of the horses + rhinos had white fur. My dad shows up with my daughter and she's had her hair done, my mum is impressed and asks if he did it but he said no, it was her other grandma that did it.

Fire
and Water
and Wind
and Earth
Death and Destruction;
Life and Birth;

Hand in hand in hand these all go.
Only one will kill my Foe.
Two will kill my friends galore.
Three kills me forevermore.

Brightest dark of darkest days,
Protection from the harmful space,
Betwixt the covers, another place.

Eyes are closed,
Thoughts are gone.
Everything,
Nothing.
All are one,
In the land of never sun.

Forever free
to always be
anything I can see.
A friend,
a ghost,
Of whom I like most
Appears before me.

"Come, lets fly!" s/he says to me.
Snags my hand, set's me free.

In the meadow,
stands two people,
waiting on one other.

We land lightly,
Ever slightly,
In the shadows.

"I'll go now." says the ghost.
of the one I like most.

Sadly s/he flies away,
Having nothing more to say,
I wave goodbye, trot on out
preparing for the coming bout

The two in the meadow.
There now stands another fellow,
Words are changing; rearranging.

Forming now, a group of friends,
Together 'till the very end.

'twixt this land of sheets and meadows.
ghosts of friends; friendly fellows.
alas, times up, we wave goodbye.

to share our thoughts in another time.
another place in a different space,
one more last friendly face clouds my face
before I'm completely wide awake.

It's once more the ghost
of one of whom I like most,
Grabs my hand, and makes a plan.
tonight again,
Same time
Same place,

As I'm thrown back to the space,
rushed along at a breakneck pace.
I smile.

I grab the hand,
from that ghost,
the one that I
like the most.

I reach in fast, before I'm gone,
to the land of the rising sun.

One quick kiss before I'm done,
a tear escapes.
I am gone.

Betwixt the sheets, I awake.
Force myself to a sitting state.

Grab a pen,
A paper too.
I have an entry I must do,
Quickly now, 'for it's erased.

In that ever harmful place.







I dunno where the Idea to type up this thing came from, but it reminded me of last night, of which I remember very little about. I hadn't tried to LD last night, but maybe I did.

It’s sometime near Christmas. But there’s this Halloween movie coming out … which kind of looks like The Nightmare Before Christmas, only less Christmasy. And my mom is complaining like, “Why would there be a Halloween movie on Christmas?” But then she and I decide to go see it anyway.
While we’re getting ready to leave I write down a bunch of ideas I apparently have for poems. I don’t remember what they all are, but one of them was going to be about Nicolas Cage. Ha …
My mom gives me and my little siblings these chocolate milk box things. I start drinking mine, but it tastes funny. I look at the label to see if it has an expiration date on it. I can’t find one, but it has this thing on the back which tells you what color the milk turns when it’s rotten. Apparently if it’s rotten, it turns yellowish green or something. But it’s still a normal color, so I figure I’m safe.
And yeah. That’s about it.

I should have journaled this earlier, but I have to at least note this dream.

I was looking at a Nazi. I didn't want to become his prisoner. I realized it was a little odd to be looking at a Nazi, and while I didn't like it, it wasn't as big of a deal as it obviously would have been if it were real.

I was also near Russian soldiers. They were a much better option if I had to be taken prisoner.

In waking life, I have a book of personally written poetry. Some soldiers from one of the two sides were looking for my poetry as though it were illegal propaganda or something. I think I started looking for the book so I could hide it.

I was in Bacolod. I was with a theater group. For some reason, they chose me (or I presented myself) for a play. A girl who looks familiar was writing poetry on the table. She's also the organizer or something.

We walked to a church, or a cathedral, where we're going to do the play. Emerald was there, also arranging stuff. Somebody told me that Grey is looking for me. I told (myself?) that no one else but Grey would know where I am when I disappear. But it seems that he's desperately looking for me.

Somehow, I was able to contact him. But he's over the "desperate" part already. He just asked me for the process/spell to turn into a zombie. I was doubtful, wondering why he wants it. While talking to him, I "saw" him (but he doesn't look the same). He's starting to transform into a zombie. I saw visions of yellowish ruins, and the blazing heat of the sun. A desert.

Then someone mentioned how he's now transforming into a zombie. I thought then that he'd also lose his consciousness. And I saw him rampage across town, and "we" saw him tearing a human apart, and we saw the bloody innards of the victim.

Then "he" walked "home." A countryside area. A farm. I was him, the "zombie" who is conscious, and not murderous.

i am in a square room (normal). my whole class is lined up back-to the wall on all four sides.

we are taking turns reading our final projects out loud. we had to write/publish a poem that was as long as a book and printed in the same fashion.

i listen to a guy read his out loud. its plot follows a woman and her son.

my friend chellsye is next to me. i whisper for her to text heather because my phone died. they are good friends in my dream and she was already texting her.

outside of the room i am on a college campus. its a big field with little wood houses speckled around the area. there are tennis courts in the center.

i go to one house. these are like greek houses. i know a lot of bitches from my real high school are living here, but i am still curious as to what it looks like inside (i'm not sure if i want to go to this college or not)

there is a sign inside that says "9:00 pm sleep time/cannabis/meditation".

this dream is from a loong time ago, i just remembered it.

i'm in a church van on my way to camp at GLBA. we're almost there but up ahead the road runs stright into a pond. to my left there are three or four cabins. i'm sitting next to this kid James from school and he shows me this poem in a book. the poem is about death and i don't remember exactly what it said but i think it was about the beauty in death. now i'm out of the van and James and i are sitting between two of the earlier cabins inside a pin where there is a goat. we go inside the cabin and it is broken and destroyed, everything burned except for this mirror. a full body mirror and in it i don't see myself, i see Satan. we decide to pour gasoline on everything especially the mirror and set the cabin on fire. we're sitting in the field with the goat watching everything burn. the mirror doesn't burn. we bury it to the best of our abilities and go once again to sit in the field. and at the exact moment that the goats lays it's head in my lap the mirror starts to rise out of the ground. i think the goat was telling me to accept my fate.