Oneironut's Dream Journal

**oneironut** · 01-03-2008 09:49 PM

Originally Posted by Moonbeam

Those must be my favorites too because I remember most of them by the titles! I'd have to say "Dirty when I'm Dead" was one of my favorites for sure. I missed "Cat Burglary somehow, so it's a good thing you the statistics.

Thanks! Compiling the list was a lot of fun because I had to go back and read them all, but because I never re-read after posting a lot of the older entries felt very new. I kept going, "WTF? Did I really write that?"

Originally Posted by Oneironaut

Haha. I love that "Drive of the Dead" dream(s). Haha. I don't think I've ever experienced being turned into a zombie. That would be wild. Heh. I could just picture you, as a zombie, slapping away the other zombie that was still feeding on you.

Nice wrap up, too. I should really do one of those, whenever I get my lazy ass around to it.

Haha, the kookiest part for me was how I didn't seem to mind as long as I still retained my thoughts and personality. Never mind the rotting corpse, brain eating stuff...I just gotta be me.

Today's entry is dedicated to Keyser Söze...

We’re Rolling<o:p></o:p>
<st1:date year="2008" day="3" month="1">Thursday, January 03, 2008</st1:date>
<o:p> </o:p>
The three of us are chilling out before we leave to do the job. Everybody’s relaxed except for the girl; she keeps fussing about the apartment and I just know she’s going to be the weak link in the chain. Jules is sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast—not hamburgers, but a big bowl of kid’s cereal (perhaps Fruit Brute). I’m sitting—of course I’m sitting—across from him eating apple slices. On a whim I dunk a slice in his cereal bowl, and the mix of fruit juice and sweetened milk is very pleasant.

It’s time to go now, so we zip up our black leather jackets and head for the door. I pull up too close for Jules to open the door, so with a muttered apology I wheel myself back a couple feet. There’s no elevator on this floor, but I roll right down the stairway without a problem.

The apartment building is next to a rundown old laundromat, still closed at this early hour. As a warm-up of sorts, Jules busts the lock with a screwdriver and his girl goes in. I can hear the sound of breaking machinery and falling coins coming from inside. Jules goes to work with his screwdriver again and breaks open a newspaper box. He pulls out three bundles with newspapers folded around them.

“What’s the news been like lately?” I ask.

“Violent,” Jules replies as he unwraps the pistols and stuffs them in his duffel bag.

“I’d hate to read the comic pages on those motherfuckers,” I say, laughing.

The girl has come out of the laundromat by now, so we head around back to where our car is parked. The alley is sloped in my favor, so I pull ahead of the others. As soon as I reach the car I notice the two bums slumped against a nearby wall. They’re both too clean and well-dressed to be homeless, and they’re staring at us intently over the rims of their designer sunglasses.

“We’ve been marked,” I call back to the others, still calm.

The girl proves me right by running away and screaming up a storm. Jules keeps walking to the car, cool as Jules can be, and yells at her to get her dumb ass back here. I tell him that maybe we should just go too, and I start to wheel back the way I came. The “bums” are on their feet now and moving to intercept, both of them with a dog on a leash. I hear them nab Jules behind me, but nobody warns me to stop so I keep rolling along as if I didn’t have a care in the world.

There’s a uniformed officer at the end of the alley, but he’s too busy harassing a local resident to notice me and I start down the sidewalk without attracting attention. As I turn down another alley lined with tall hedges I hear exactly what I’ve been waiting for: one of the police yelling for the others to find a third suspect in a wheelchair.

I give the wheels some good strong turns to keep me moving while freeing up my hands. I unzip my leather jacket and pull off my gloves and cap, tossing them over my shoulder. When the wheelchair comes to a stop I leap to my feet, drape the jacket over the seat, and duck into the hedges. I emerge onto a residential back yard and jog across the grass towards the opposite fence.

I don’t know if I’ll make it or not, and it almost doesn’t matter because I’m enjoying the game too much to care either way. All I have to do is get far enough away from the immediate area to hide in plain sight. No prior record, no fingerprints on file, and definitely no longer fitting the description.

I’m rolling.

**oneironut** · 01-09-2008 02:51 PM

Check Out Time<o:p></o:p>
<st1:date year="2008" day="9" month="1">Wednesday, January 09, 2008</st1:date>
<o:p> </o:p>
I’m spending my vacation at a cozy little bed and breakfast. It’s annoying to have to share a room, and my roommate keeps jolting me awake by talking out loud, but she’s quite attractive and the bed is very soft, so I endure as best I can.

Our room must be right over the kitchen, because the early morning stillness is suddenly broken by the clatter of what sounds like dozens of pots and pans. Our host comes into the room to apologize for the noise. She also informs us that she’s been ordered to close the inn, and will need to accelerate time to get us all to the closing date as soon as possible. Still tucked under the covers, I ask if she can just let time advance normally, because in spite of the annoyances I’m enjoying my vacation and don’t want it cut short.

From the Jaws of Defeat<o:p></o:p>
<st1:date year="2008" day="9" month="1">Wednesday, January 09, 2008</st1:date>
<o:p> </o:p>
My computer terminal is just one of many here at the library. After clicking through various options, the screen displays what looks like a beefed-up version of Asteroids. I immediately recognize the black and white vector graphics of my triangular ship and the spinning rocks, but there are many other strangely shaped obstacles littering the screen. There’s also another ship just like mine, and it immediately starts to kick my ass.

I fumble at the keyboard as my ship takes hit after hit, spinning wildly and bouncing off the asteroids and other obstacles. A klaxon goes off to warn of the impending destruction of my ship, and just beneath the noise I hear laughter. The computers here are networked, and it turns out the person sitting next to me is the pilot of the enemy ship. I press random keys in a desperate effort to stay alive, and my ship suddenly goes on the offensive, spinning like a pinwheel and firing in all directions until everything else on the screen is obliterated. I try to be a good sport, but I can’t help but gloat over my victory.

**oneironut** · 01-11-2008 12:20 AM

My crime spree continues. I confess I get a kick out of these dreams, especially since nobody gets hurt and I never get caught.

Lifting Spirits (and Other Valuables)<o:p></o:p>
<st1:date year="2008" day="10" month="1">Thursday, January 10, 2008</st1:date>
<o:p> </o:p>
I enter the shopping center with a dark overcoat draped over my shoulders. I realize that must look silly for this middle class suburban neighborhood, but it keeps my arms free and hidden; that will come in handy in the next few minutes. I leisurely stroll about watching for opportunities and one rushes towards me almost immediately. The man is so intent on his own business that it’s easy to position myself so we collide. My hand darts in and out of his coat like a striking snake, and I offer loud and profuse apologies before hastening on my way. I wait to hear shouts behind me, but when none come I relax and examine my prize.

The wallet is of good quality, but doesn’t contain much cash. Maybe only fifty or sixty dollars, but every bit helps. There is an important looking document tucked away in one sleeve; perhaps that will lead to further profit down the road. I fold up the cash and tuck it into my pocket, then work it through the small hole in the fabric and into the hidden pouch I have sewn inside my trouser leg. None of this is visible thanks to my coat.

The shopping center comes to a dead end and I stop for a moment. A girl in her early twenties dressed in what looks like a company shirt is giving a demonstration of stage magic equipment before a small and unimpressed crowd. She’s not without skill, but she’s nervous and the heckling of two teenage boys is only making things worse. I suddenly yell out a few choice remarks that seem to magically release the tension. Everybody relaxes and laughs good-naturedly, even the besieged magician and her hecklers. She’s doing much better now, I see. As a fellow practitioner of sleight of hand, I silently wish her well and go on searching for my next performance.<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>

**Moonbeam** · 01-11-2008 03:20 AM

Originally Posted by oneironut

My crime spree continues. I confess I get a kick out of these dreams, especially since nobody gets hurt and I never get caught.

I hope the dream-police don't catch up with you!

I don't think I've ever had an interesting on-going theme like that. On-going themes, yes; interesting, no.

**oneironut** · 01-11-2008 10:55 PM

Originally Posted by Moonbeam

I hope the dream-police don't catch up with you!

Police...police are nothing to evil masterminds like me, mwahahahahaaha *cough* *cough*

TILT!<o:p></o:p>
<st1:date year="2008" day="11" month="1">Friday, January 11, 2008</st1:date>
<o:p> </o:p>
The sun hasn’t risen yet, the rest of the apartment is still asleep, and I’m in the mood for some pinball. I shrug into my robe and feel my way down the hall to the little room where I have The Addam’s Family table set up. I plug in the power and right away I hear Cousin It’s jabbering followed by Raul Julia yelling, “IT’S SHOWTIME!”

I’ve been playing and having a blast for a while before I notice how much of a disturbance I’m causing. It’s not just the noise, but the fact that the entire room (and likely the rest of building) is vibrating. It’s probably too late to make any difference, but I decide to stop and pull out the power cord. The table goes dark and quiet, the flippers stop in mid-flip, and even the ball freezes in place. That can’t be a good way to leave the machine, so I restore the power long enough for the ball to drop into the gutter. <o:p></o:p>

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