This Post Will Be Edited, Post Comments Below. Thank you.
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Current:
Mon. Sept 06, 2004.
(2:43 PM)

The first thing I typed into my journal this morning was:
"<STRIKE!! :D>"

I had a long, involved, detailed journey through an elvish burrow, a fight between three dwarf-copies and some invaders, and a snake fight. Unfortunately, I'm on the family computer (my attic room being to hot) and my Dream journal is well hidden in mine.
Best of all, I came up with my own way of inducing dream recall, and I think I can repeat it tonight. I tried repeating the same sentence over and over: "I will wake after every dream, and remember" but it loses its meaning after you repeat it about five hundred times. I tried just sleeping, and I did what I normally do- I don't remember any dreams.

So I tryed talking to myself.
I'm a world class self-conversationalist, I can talk to myself for hours. It's endlessly entertaining. I think it comes from having absolutely no friends in real life, and living on a mountain with only two neighbors. The nearest people my age are:
1. My brother and sister (older brother moved out), and they're to young.
2. And a goth. She lives like five miles away.

(Note: I can also seperate my thoughts, and play chess with myself)

So I talked to myself. I talked about why I want to remember my dreams (leading to eventual lucidity), talked about the fact that I could remember my dreams (because of a long series of logical conclusions) if I wanted to. I talked about how much I wanted to be able to fly. I talked myself into wishing I could dream and remember, and when I wanted it enough- I went to sleep.

And Dreamed.

Something weird: In a lot of my dreams, now that I think about it, I control everything. I'm not lucid, I just take it for granted that (even though I believe that it's all real) I can make anything I want appear.
In one part of my dream last night, My brother told me to get a horse and ride home. I didn't have a horse (he did), but I distinctly remember thinking about making one appear. And I didn't notice anything wrong with that.

Two examples:

1. In the fantasy dream last night: I imagined something else happening than what was, and everything skipped, and it was.

2. I was bored, and looking at a magazine rack in my dream, and I saw a skimpily clothed anime-ish looking girl. I thought idly about a scene from somewhere, and everything skipped again. I saw the scene (anime girl-school outfit-spinning-peace "V" with the fingers-wink-laughter) for a second, and then I was back in the dream.

This happens in almost every dream. I think I can focus on it, and use it to tell myself I'm in a dream. The whole dream-sign thing.

So, basically: I control everything in my dreams, take that fact for granted, and still believe it's all real.
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Sat. Sept 04, 2004.

I started my dream journal two nights, and three dreams ago.
One vivid dream. One LONG, disjointed, fuzzy dream. And one false awakening.

-sigh-

I'm still trying. Weirdly, writing in my journal is fun. I get to almost, relive it. And so far, it's gotten huge in the space of two nights of dreams and comments. Being sixteen, I was worried about leaving a Dream Journal where someone in my family (parents or siblings) could read it. Take one, wild, far-flung, top-of-the-head guess what a sixteen year old is going to dream about.

Exactly.

So I keep a paper copy near at night, I write in it if I wake up, and then I transcribe (adding details that the second writing forced me to remember, and comments) to my personal computer. Then, I have the digital copy hidden so well, disguised as a program file, invisable, SIX layers of files and sub folders before getting into it. That I can be safe.
I burn the paper copy in the woods behind my house, and grind the ashes into the dirt.

Weirdly (again), I havent had any sexual dreams. I had one very vivid dream, before I got into this forum, and I havent had one since. I'm keeping my personal files to myself though.

Excerpt from Waymakers Dream Journal:

Thursday, Sept. 02, 2004.

<I thought I hadn't had any dreams. I woke up at dawn, extremely frustrated. And went back to sleep. I dreamed.>
<I didn't write any of this down right away or I could have remembered more. I was mad, and I didn't write the little bit I could remember down, once I started I remembered more and more.>

<I think there was something else, about going in a big building before we left. A store? Something not right.>

I Dream. My sister is driving, we change seats. I am scared of looking foolish.
<Skip>
I am driving a car. I'm scared I'm going to wreck. I'm swerving, and running off the road in places. I drive for a long time, everyone else (my brother and two other people) are oblivious. I finally cross some railroad tracks. weirdly, the road turns ONTO the railroad tracks. I drive down the tracks for a while. Then they diverge again. I slow, unsure of the way. Two roads, one goes uphill, the other to the left. The uphill road crosses the tracks several times, even though it's going straight. The railroad tracks go in loop de' loops around the road, rising into the air at the top, and built into the ground at the bottom.
<Skip>
I am fighting next to another person. We are hurling logs at a man down below, our car <a van? or truck> is behind us, he is hiding behind a large pile of logs and brush. He is throwing bigger ones back. I trick him, and score on his head. There is a road to the right going downhill past the man. He comes up, and congratulates me. A piece of metal (a disc) is buryed in his forehead. He shakes my hand. He walks to the left, toward a trailer or house of some kind.
<Skip>
I am explaining to my mother that he wasn't really hurt: It was stuck right there! I say. I show with my hand. Holding it up in a saluting gesture.
I explain that I tricked him by throwing a big log to the left, and then (quickly) a smaller one to the right. The smaller one ricocheted off the left side of his head. He fell.
<Note: The "small" logs were about two feet long, and one wide. The big ones were easily twice that.>
<Skip>
I live alone, in an unfinished house. It only has insulation, no walls. I remember that my brother lived here before me. I asked my mother to let me live here.
<Skip>
Something about mud. <Dragging something in the mud? down the road to the right of the log man?> Me and my father and brother are leaving. We feel.... proud.

Some more, vary garbled. Can't remember.

This is more of a... record of my efforts, than a journal. Though I will have excerpts from my personal journal.

<Skip> - Means that it skipped ahead, or jumped to another scene.

Thank you, I will edit this post when I have an update (probably tomarrow), feel free to post a comment below.