All DJ Entries

I had two dreams on October 7th, 2008. This is the first one, but it is fragmented.


I am in my own apartment and it is a Victorian style building. I am smoking pot and trying to avoid detection from a police officer who is across the street. I start Spongebob Squarepants and forget about the police.

Grandma is living with me, but she is senile and it is easy to trick her into giving me twenty dollar bills all the time. There is an entity living in an alarm clock but it has satalite capabilities and lots of wires and connectors coming out of it. I frequently have deep intellectual conversations with this alarm clock. There are other people/entities moving around the house but they are vague and hard to define, like ghosts.

The dream changes and I am in a school that is half destroyed and students rioting. I meet an intriguing young man who is interested in UFC and later he starts a UFC fight club in the basement of the school which has somehow merged with the basement of grandma's place.

That's all I remember from this dream.

Most of the general items and fashions in this dream appear to be from the mid to late 1800s, though most of the transportation machines that appear look like they came from the 1930s-40s.


I am a Gypsy and travelling but do not know my destination. I appear to be in my late teens and have nothing with me except for the ragged brown dress and light blue handknit sweater I am wearing. My meager worldy possessions are in a faded green corderoy bag. I am alone and very pregnant. I do not know where the father is as he is never mentioned in the dream. I feel mistrustful of most of the people that appear in this dream, as well as unfairly judged by them because of my youth and pregnancy.

At the beginning of this dream I am sitting in a glass bus terminal on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere. It is night time and raining hard. The only nearby lighting is old fashioned oil burning street lamp which really does not supply a lot of light. Beyond the immaediate area around the lamp and a little bit inside the terminal everything is utterly, pitch black. I can see faint yellow and red lights flickering in the distance, but I have no idea what they are. I am waiting for a bus that will take me to a nearby port. There lies a ship that I know I am supposed to board but I do not know how because I have neither money nor a ticket.

After a while of sitting a bus does come along and it appears that it came from the 1950s or early 60s. There are several unsavory looking men taking up most of the seats at the front of the bus so I head to the empty seats at the back. They all stop talking and leer at me as I walk by which makes me feel nervous and fearful. The bus is well lit and clean and I stare out the window as it travels, though I can still see nothing through the darkness outside. I am uncomfortably aware of the men at the front talking quietly amongst themselves then shooting leering glances in my direction and laughing coarsely.

The bus arrives at the port and all of the passengers disembark. It then turns around and drives back the way it came, eventually disappearing into the darkness. The lighting of the port is dim but much better than at the bus stop. The only ship in the port is docked beside the only building, which is multistoried, made of concrete and painted white. I am not sure exactly where to go so I cautiously follow the group of men who also disembarked from the bus, but they do not head towards the ship like I hope and instead go to a pickup truck parked on the far side of port and drive off.

There is a large group of people outside a set of glass doors and they appear to also be Gypsies seeking passage on the ship. A man with a goatee and dressed in a black navy uniform stands between the people and the door and is telling everyone that they cannot board the ship. Many of the Gypsies hand the man wads of cash or jewelry and he quickly waves them inside. It is not long before most of the people are inside and the few who were rejected linger around the port. The rain no longer pours and slows down to a gentle trickle. An elderly Gypsy couple arrive late and convince the man at the door to let me in along with them. He accepts only when they produce an acceptable bribe.

Once on the ship we join with the rest of the Gypsies and are told that there is no rooms available and the only space available is on the floor in secluded halls and storage rooms or out on the deck. Everyone scrambles to find space inside and the few unlucky ones who have to go out onto the deck try to find spots out of the wind and rain. Because we are the last ones to board, the elderly couple and I try to make ourselves comfortable undernearth a lifeboat, but it is hard to crawl under for them because of their age, and for me becuase of my bulging belly.

I do not know how much time passes, but the ship is far out at sea and though it is still dark, the ambient lighting of the scene allows me to see practically everything. The rain has stopped but the temperature drops drastically, almost to the point where I can see my breath. I am laying on the open deck looking up at the sky. It is overcast with thick, dark grey and maroon coloured clouds. I stand up and look over the rail. The water is choppy and dark, and I can see icebergs in the distance all around the ship. An old man who looks like the captain of the Titanic (as portrayed by Bernard Hill in James Cameron's film) dressed in a white and blue navy uniform comes out and asks me if I would like to sleep inside. When I say yes he takes me to a room with eight cots in it. The small beds look like hospital gurneys and have lime green burlap blankets on them. The room is devoid of people but seven of the beds look like they have been slept in and have bags and coats thrown around nearby I recognize the possessions as Gypsy in origin. There is one bed left and it is in the far corner of the room against the wall. I lay down upon it, using my corderoy bag as a pillow, and fall asleep almost immediately.

I have a dream within a dream.

I am sitting on a bench outside of the white building back at the port when an old fashioned pickup truck drives up and stops in front of me. The leering men on the bus are in the truck and they try to convince me to get in with them. I say no and try to ignore them, but two jump out of the back of the truck and grab me by the arms and try to force me into the vehicle. I kick and scream and out of nowhere a police officer with short black hair and dressed in a modern uniform appears and tells the men to let me go. He then warns them to leave and not come back. The leering men get back into their truck and mumble angrily as they drive off. The police officer encourages me to keep going on my journey before disappearing as mysteriously as he appeared.

I wake up to a room filled with people. The other Gypsies have returned and most of them are not happy to see me as they paid heavily in bribes to get into that room and I was given a bed for free. Some of them also vocalize their disapproval of the shame of me being a single unwed mother, especially one travelling alone, but they speak to each other and not address me directly. I ignore their jeers and go out to visit the kind elderly couple on the deck, but they are nowhere to be found. It is still dark and icebergs still surround the ship but there are more of them and they are much closer. The ship seems to be heading for a large featureless landscape in the distance that looks like either a beach with cliffs or a glacier.

Morning of October 9, 1982. Saturday.



I am back in my Cubitis bedroom and I become lucid from an unknown cause (and I eventually shift into apex lucidity) but with a cautious awareness. For a time, I indulge in a lot of different scenes involving several different girls, who, for the most part, otherwise walk around enjoying themselves. I also enjoy developing various geometrical shapes in seemingly new combinations.

At one point, I fall into focusing on various connecting planes at different angles (for example, a couch, relative to the front at ninety degrees from the seat and how the arms are structured, the three-dimensional surfaces and angles enhancing my interest in dream structures). I also deliberately gaze into the eyes of one unknown female to see if I can see something special, yet all I see are the sort of lightning-like patterns (and sometimes cilia-like forms) that make up the irises and the “oil” which makes up the pupils. Still, I see myself in the pupil, which is mirror-like, the act being similar to looking into a Christmas tree ornament.

Over time, there are unusual physical effects. It seems as if I have been performing (sexually) for days. In the last segment (as I am thinking of what to do with my dream state and heightened clarity), I notice a dream character that seems to be lurking behind a doorway, but only his arms and hands are in view at first. I see that he is holding and pointing a pistol (though not at me at first as it almost seems that he plans on hiding a little longer). At this point, he is the only dream character other than myself.

“Come outta there!” I yell as a command.

“You’re under arrest!” the unfamiliar man addresses me cautiously.

Believing that I have no use for authority in my own dream, I do a hand motion and make him point the gun to his head but he struggles (and I have to increase my own will over the scene almost as if he has his own will power), saying “No, no, wait, I have something important to tell you!” Just as I am about to eliminate him (or feel that I could), I change my mind. Instead, I pause and decide to listen, because he almost seems a part of me. I get the impression that he is the last policeman to exist in “this world”.

I stand near the center of the living room, facing west (towards my bedroom doorway). He faces me, though a bit to my left. He lowers his gun and starts talking to me about my father (who had died on Valentine’s Day in 1979). (On one level, I seem to be aware of what he is going to say as if there is some sort of “automatic agreement”.) I realize that there had been guilt at not having performed in public with my father (or even being in the audience) at his last music venue. This seems somewhat profound, especially as the last words I ever heard him say (prior to his leaving to perform at the venue) “I sure wish you’d come with me”. Not feeling the connection to people or the interest to entertain or please them (aside from feeling out of place and uneasy in front of people at times), I did not have enough willpower to go. That was his last concert and in the middle, the very last words he said (to his audience), “looks like you’re going to have to play the jukebox from now on”.

From here, the policeman now seems sort of scruffy. He also now appears to be only about half my height. Still, he seems more relaxed with me. As he is looking down at the floor, he says “It’s time for a new movie”, what I take to mean a release of any and all guilt related to my father and how I was not with him in his last conscious moments, as he had in his own subtle way hinted at before leaving the house.

---

This lucid dream had likely gone on a bit too long (as biologically, a dreamer must eventually wake). The personified preconscious is eventually rendered (via the emergent consciousness) and “arrests” me, though there is still some unusual trailing conversation. One of the meanings of “It’s time for a new movie” could actually mean that it is time to wake to dream again at a later date, though it may also relate to not replaying the reality-based “mental movie” of guilt concerning my father.

---