After a long trip (video game playing?), a realistic walk around the house, an animal dropping in from the ceiling of the (wrong) bedroom. I pick up the animal and start grabbing at it hard; before I know it I was harming, strangling a cat.
Elements of the dream weren’t memorable enough. But the waking dream: kid makes a 4-bit processor in 1969 with transistors.
At a special place, although the people who live there wouldn’t call it special. It may have been a beach coast, it may’ve been a city location— I don’t recall. My mother, who’s supposed to pick me up, was in the car, in the right-backseat, asleep against the door. There were some additional elements involving a car… the music, perhaps.
I was flipping through the C-SPANs trying to find an interesting dream movie that I caught a glimpse at, in that channel range; turns out it was on VH1. Young adults that dream of being trapped in water, under ice maybe—psychological stuff. Some of my perversity leaks into the content. Part of Movies That Don’t Suck— no, that’s G4… VH1 has Movies That Rock.
Stupid disagreements (reflected w. one this afternoon about what counts as snow), and an interesting thing that I can’t recall.
Only in my dreams do I see the best mapmaking in existence.
One dream centered on a large spring break event, where even Jay Leno would be talking about it. Large-scale profiteering, the works. The gratuity for TV would stick out, but I didn’t catch much or any musical performances. You knew MTV was there, but they weren’t in my field of view. The dream drifted off into background/behind-the-scenes, actually working hehind the talk show hosts, as if the studios wree not enclosed. Some kind of TV-14 sex scene got worked in, of course—‘need to keep the ratings up.’
Includes exaggerated nature of leaks in the house over Sandy. Project leftover and some connectivity w. buttons. Random web browsing—I can surf the web in my sleep; so why do it awake?
WordPress plans—“thinking ahead,” yet in real life I acted against them today, and instead gave a glimpse of just how damaged I am, unable to honestly put my prepared “work” up. Some connections were broken, and one not-completely-known one was made.
Time travel loop—being stuck we find corruption of the ship.
Friends not knowing exactly why they’re stuck either, or not ever knowing.
But there is the “hey, I’ve seen you before” of the to-be-couple.
These dream sequences, some more interesting than others involve paths. Dirt roads, in particular, as I’d know that horses would be taken down one or two. People that work for a living, including a teenager I know, would travel down one of those roads, but I’m only walking to look. The lower road is smoother, flatter.
There were more interesting dreams, maybe more familiar, playing with a light or something— I don’t remember distinctly.
Realistic(?) happenings, and more Marathon—it gets more particular, but the theme is off-putting to want to remember it. Maybe if I’d had the pad under the pillow to write the details down before I forget.
A lot of good stuff happened. And I can’t remember any of it.
One of the objects in this dream was a large, plastic-packaged rectangular cake with a 1998.01.01 date on it.
An ’80s movie of two college girlfriends that need to know what it’s like as a male jock. They become male jocks. There’s some yelling and mild violence.
Eventually you see, pre-taping, the cast of the sitcom with the Three’s Company actress (Suzanne Sommers) as the mother, with the kids as babies (it’s the late ’80s). And then she turns into a dark-haired actress that’s dead, or Rhea Perlman or something—I don’t remember.
I could just sleep forever, you know? Things are just better dreaming than in real life, esp. w. the dreams of these days.
I think this is the first time I ever dreamt of a building on fire, smoke pooling out, and people running out on fire. And they somehow didn’t have any severe burns after rolling, stamping out the burning on themselves. And it looks related to a movie co-starring Eddie Murphy; he took the backseat this time, letting another actor lead.
Extended version of Super Mario Bros. 3, where I would just play the new maps until I wake.
There were some perverse elements that I won’t enter here.
Running an old TV on the inverter, or something, as the thunderstorm passes over.
In the 20th century, two parents that put out a fire with buckets of water find their kids
missing, after thinking they were burned up.
Three paragraphs of text reveal there to be a basement that the parents had not known of; the
children drowned. This story turns into something of Ghost Rider...
Dreams that compensate for my depression. Walking, talking, green grass—later.
On a radio, M. Savage was reportedly out of the country to save voice.
I haven’t been jotting anything lately because I’ve deemed my dreams to be nothing but entertainment. Being disconnected, disjointed, out of touch and self-deceptive.
An earlier dream had just about every kid on a computer in a room. I got the old system 7.1.2 Macintosh. I took the task of trying to install ResEdit...version 1.0?
The later dreams were a little darker.
A small city is barely rocked by its loud, theater-like goings-on. Yet what I saw was raw,
pretty empty, and not a stage production.
#1 journalist in the small city covers the big ones, including the boss’s being bribed to silence the young #1. It was messy, each man trying to prove his case until the raw footage got out.
There was some attention paid to ventilation entry, and some Simpsons stuff?...
Blending into the campus-like activities: maintenance. I had the job of keeping the computer
directory up to date, and that blended into what Marathon would look like had more work been done:
while updating the screens for what to do with the object on their left, the better A.I. is shown by
assimilated VacBobs entering an associated teleporter to one near me, and blowing up in my face.
I overheard a conversation, like one with George Noory, that explains what’s happening with my vision, exacerbated by sleep deprivation. It’s due to staring into bright light, such as the sun. I’ve had CFL light directly in my visible plane due to the flies, killing them near it. Plasma leaks into the [garbled, picked up as ‘uterin’—‘uvea’?], and there’s no cure. There are theoretical, surgical treatments. The uvea indirectly supplies diffusible nutrients to the outer retina, cornea and lens, which lack any intrinsic blood supply.
A three-way error dream sequence crash and
wake-up...
It was a normal sequence, doing some long walking on pavement with my mother, and I climbed up
onto a surface—a bridge, or something. Before I was to lift myself up, onto the flat surface, a
red-headed girl asked me some questions. I don’t remember much of the content, and got some answer
to something by a sister who had just come into the scene, but when I asked why she was talking to
someone “as ugly as me,” she started into, “Well, since puberty,” with sad emotion...the dialogue
degraded, and then, the dream crashed, and the window returned to a smaller larger size.
Of course, something tried to get my attention, as I’m most attracted to red heads...[the condition being] a genetic mutation of the MC1R gene that produces mutated receptors, more UV-susceptible reddish pheomelanin instead of black eumelanin, and “cross talk” bet. POMC hormones somehow lowers pain tolerance. Not that the melanoma (seen as blackened red sores) is what attracts me.
Great. I killed again.
I hide an assassin’s target; once he finds out I’ve been lying to him he goes after me.
Conventional weapons...until he puts a nail in his nose, to attempt to blow it at me. With the nail
in the wrong away, and my blocking, a crack. It took a while to get medical attention,
carrying the little guy in my arms. They tell me he’s DOA, I put my hand over my mouth in
sadness.
The Office becomes desperate after the departure of both James Spader (“Robert California”?) and “Michael” (Steve Carell), with a contest of new ‘it-blogger’ for the company... web contest and pageant? All the girls ‘know’ that the new black female employee is inevitably going to win. And so the other fem. employees treat her unkindly. We witness the shallower NBC standards and practices when we get to contestant #3, in her response to the new employee: “Suck my d*ck, suck my d*ck, and suck my d*ck. And this’s the first time I said that to/as a (woman).” Another contestant, played by Scarlett Johansson, reacts to her failing the contest, on bed, on the phone, tear(s) in eye(s), acts well. The eyes still manage to go off a little.
I still don’t have TV service, so this could be a premonition. Or plagiarism, if, mos. from now, this little in-dream script writing is broadcast.
Find a parking place.
Simpsons: Lisa tries to put Bart back together after an explosion divides him body-part
wise.
New Girl: guy roommate tries not to vomit after being served bean-something rice meal, followed by the next meal of an adorable sugary puffed rice, hardened sugary dessert, into the guy’s bowl, on top of everything else. Just dumped into the bowl, sugary stick junk.
A no. of dreams were action-packed, but overkill or something prevents me from recalling any details.
Dreams include Jimmy Falon’s show featuring a giant Grover (Muppets) hand massaging a giant Grover pen— eww...
Butt-Head manages to keep a special object hidden, even as Kelly Bundy spikes the bowl with sleeping pill powder/formula.
IM SPAM makes its way into my dreams!?
An apocalyptic movie dream, with demon-like characters that don’t die if you shotgun them in the head. They act peaceful, and then hiss. One that was headless comes back to life, with head, in the van we were in. And there’s a shot of the hill and bridge near where I live. There was a lot more to the story than just vampiric parasites, but, as usual I am not recalling much.
The least sanitary beach: all birds, shallow and deep end in waters, crap in it. Supermodels, as well? White crap, all. Telling that story to some guests before a homicidal maniac Neil Patrick Harris is killing people with a weapon. All maneuvers in escaping him, even using windows to get from building to building. His excuse: he had a ‘killer role,’ and needed to do some method acting to understand, play it right.
VCR/cable box again (TV w/o reason), static-filled this time. I can imagine watching TV, just not actually watch it.
Phone code, in desperation, to print something as some neighbor entered, told for wrong reason(?) after enter—a 337 code, success.
Married With Children?—some sitcom, TV junk from a parking lot, rather. Stephen Colbert wrote article(s) for NYT—well, somewhere, and another writer says the move was stupid after it was finished.
An incredibly long Rin Tin Tin book title. I can write professionally in my dreams... The tale of the [something] from the [something] that [something] from the...
Lift off into space, landing on moon, Kennedy accent, “Lahnd/Put-a man on-da moon.” Poor authorship on that, I can see through my efforts.
Not only was the F-bomb left uncensored for a mus. performance on the Daily Show, A&E had an ‘uncensored presentation’ of the best of Sundance—I saw an artsy Angelina Jolie movie, where even the food on the floor bled, like the corpse of the guy her char. killed.
Indiana Jones stuff? Factory-made (chocolate) candy rejects, some with pol. speech, art, messages on them. And, of course, easier file management. Some ideas leaked in, ideas that I can’t implement with what I have.
Cutting down a structure I made? Magic, Harry Potter-like stuff.
2 to 3-player space invaders, w/ special weapons, more like Asteroids, but only w/ few enemies.
Eventually, it got into defeating New England snow, after a rough diagonal into a house..
Most forgotten. Flash drive treated R/O.
Final dream: bugs galore, flies, different kinds and ages of ticks. Not many in count, but they
never go away. Did meth get into the water supply?
A “stuffing” recipe of food in black, grimy socks makes those who eat it zombie killers—they act normal till you approach them. Then their sense of humor only lies in when the victim helps them kill. This ‘zombie’ tradition ended up being passed down from a more classical time, where one a group of characters, including an actress, faced battles of the time.
Last dream gradually had me committing murder, planning what to do—just going back to sleep, facing the police that came unusually quickly. They told me to pick up junk from the floor, and I did. Contents that normally wouldn’t be on the floor almost made me vomit. I could honestly say to anyone that I didn’t shoot or stab the guy. I slashed him. Good thing this was only a dream.
Things mysteriously come on, as if my mother turned them on, fiddled with them. My arms thicker than reality. The little things, loss of control. Blow up the little good things that happen!
Earlier dream had me hiding from a school bus driving down the street...also how more advanced the scams, “new pics for you,” penetrating more facets of soc. media.
Last one has me taking over for security officer, only to run in yelling, It’s the bandit!
when I saw an unusual, hooded man in the lot from afar.
The last dream ended with looking for what a rotten smell, sound (high-pitched) and visible fumes were coming from. I eventually traced it to the bedroom closet: a 9-V battery, positive side protruding. Smells are rare in dreams.
2.04 Update: awful, dungy, rotten smell in USM Gorham men’s bathroom trash, 1st floor.
Another school-oriented dream, and...
Related to the real mouse in the ceiling, eating poisonous yellow foam (stupid mouse), a skunk
(w/o white stripe) in this dream was getting into the house via dug soft-wood hole behind the left of
the heater — I stuck the jar of plastic fumes (tried to make a light bulb many a year ago), down in
the hole, but I was so damn tired. I couldn’t act much, and it got hazy. Update: I got hazy later
on in real life. This experience must’ve been inspired by the squirrel story in Parade.
Humanoids want a special timer from me, and I get into selling things. Other lines were blurred in terms of what constitutes stuff owned, regimens and... comic strips?
Premonition: a (watch) company manager will quit.
The ends of two dreams are extremely disturbing in one way or another, so I’ll spare you the
details on those. There was some tech setup with emulated Mac loading first thing on a PC in a later
dream, with console stuff somehow taped onto the ceiling, in equivalent order. That woke me, to find
the real ceiling having nothing on it, and too thin to support the weight anyway.
What got me up still disturbs me, so I won’t describe it here literally, but I will give a translation: some want to see blood so badly that they kill themselves in their blindness. The vision disturbed everyone at scene less within dream, but it led me to the point of blacking out the text on the sheet of paper, the literal description.
There was also a movie-like scenario that did offer a scene of a guy getting kicked in the balls, during some kind of orgy, or something. Work play, building walls and walking. I can’t recall it exactly.
As I went to sleep “good,” bad came in; it seems sleep inverts states to a completion.
See: divine relativity (started 1.31).
Robin Williams as an android again, this time fighting crime; Photoshop masking takes out whole object in virtual removal; movies; whole ep. of Futurama; ‘old’ ep. of South Park turned into Rugrats, with Comedy Central logo-ing on the Nick blimp (both Viacom networks).
Finally, in the back of a Jewish holy book(?!), Kosher TV and movies, including K. Adult films (no sausage).
Oh, this is the best one. Someone who called himself Ezekiel challenged me. I was not afraid. It was small, though.
Vivid, no winter weather or coldness that I experience these days in waking. Cable/TV svc channels loaded w/ nudity...somehow all of this on the TV w/ no box, channels 205 or so w/ errors, then in the 90s, then some movie (bled in from the John Travolta/Christian Slater movie, except one-star, media hype first). Clock on the heater somehow doubled as a security alarm, notifying something to watch out: “free-reign booty call,” then another similar—I see a female jogger stroll by the street. Green and warm, the environment, yet I didn’t feel temperature. The woman jogs back, this time going around the trail of...the house. The home is now some garden paradise? I wake up into the same out-of-this-world place, only to to have to wake up again, this time for real.
Next vivid dreams: classroom-esque, after screwball distractions, and a man that keeps appearing in something trying to see what my interests are, or scare me, or something. I was trying to see if the loss of cone vision in my degrading retinas effected resolution in dreams, but he couldn’t tell why I was looking, and asked me what. I didn’t tell him. I was staring at a bright edge (a table?), and he still didn’t know when I asked him. Once all the overdone ‘ado’ cleared—crossword puzzles here keep using that frickin’ word—he gave me his name after denying he was my guardian angel...yes, I asked someone...or something. He then on to write on the blackboard something that turned into a pattern that my brain wasn’t able to source-store (rendering of data); it gradually changed, complex as it was, broken in lettering with marks scrambled and many in count. The inconsistencies grew as I tried to read it, moving my eye around, trying to read the word. When I said I couldn’t get the spelling, or critiqued it, he said he may’ve forgotten it. He said his name aloud: Ezekiel.
The final dream was something challenging, as if it was someone else’s dream— the black guy w/
dreads on MTV News? A stereo speaker sys. cost as much as a car in his 500? The kid who was
challenged at the end, after experiencing what he wanted to experience, see and get
things—whatever, it was a human pile up of thugs trying to slow the character down, with tranq
darts; I stuck those in every log found wrapped around me. Let’s say they were dazed and tired,
but they didn’t give up until the ‘dream’ was over. Oh, how difficult it must’ve been growing up
poor...hey—I am poor! And that ‘dream’ isn’t real!
Further advanced follow-up: the ‘Ezekiel’ character was a construct of mind and soul (angel), with a consistent and realistic face I couldn’t ID, and shouldn’t see in real life (dangerous, deadly when that occurs to someone). He still did not know what I stared at...it could be nerve damage, as the pressures in my head would be affecting the optic nerve, or something. Getting back to the story follow-up, the responses to questions were delayed, and he seemed to respond they way I wanted him to—my internal computing action.
As I was writing (the paper follow-up), my mother opened the Bible, and after the second turn, Ezekiel, page 1,056 in New World Translation (1984, apparently more accurate and original than the King James version). The other one’s blocked by the crammed objects to the drawer—the one my father gave before they, the other part of the family, stopped taking our mail.
‘Ezekiel’ was white, so, a Matrix program? (A dumb thought.)
Bible codes in Hebrew, the grand scheme, and so forth—a projection on top of a program? One who
lived his life according to those well-calculated codes, a test to see whether fear/anger-based rule
is mightier than love-based? Well, that’s rigged— love rules. Am I asking questions that state my
considerations?
Painting on the wall has woman telling, as a guardian, what happened in a family-friendly series; the “wickeds” blamed for something the young son was responsible for: when he was back in time, before WWII, he romanced a girl that was important in WWII, and that screwed up the timeline. The son, as in all crappy family shows, resorts to a fake suicide attempt, via a large passing axe contraption thing, outside (that never really passes him).
Dammit! I forgot the important one!
Wikipedia is back up. I dreamed that. There. After writing that... Now I feel sick.
World’s largest cookie eaten by world’s largest man—twice, legal battle ensues, with bad CGI background. That bleeds into an old dance movie. We got the beat, we got the beat..yeah, we got the beat.
Late 1970s parody that ends with different themes for different parts of the movie. Geraldo
Rivera, at the time, exits the building, with drama. Outside, he witnesses all of the tragedies of a
year(s), all at once: Oh, No!
at each turn. Overwhelmed with emotion, he punches a snow bank,
and his hand bleeds. Oh, no.
He breaks (starts laughing) after the “tragedy” of the
Gene Hackman club breaking up—men dressed as Hackman, with glasses & mustaches, leaving a the
applied exit.
Pencil in the back by James, while answering the Q of what day of the week 2.29 is on (Wed.).
Next dream was 100% vivid—floating above the hallway, kitchen, over spaces I wouldn’t have been able to see. Mac OS X graphics force their way into the holographic display type....yet, more advanced: menus fold out, not fade in. Everything accounted for? Daylight.
Third dream featured people still buying 75 W global bulbs, at over $300 each?! I had to leave sooner or else my ride would have taken off.
Last dream had me visually confusing Park and Reverse (P and R looked much the same on the board), attempting to hold the car in place so that it wouldn’t roll into the street. And after I got it in park, another car partially ran over some things I left on the ground. One of them was yellow...kids’ stuff? (Some of the contents plastic, like a yellow Halloween costume among them.)
Dream ends in me joining other students checking out new university instead of waiting for one ride to show up (by air?). Computer simulations, realistic (and on game consoles), timely organization... Michael Winslow with speaker sunglasses instead of the ‘buy 9,000’ Earths item decades later. (We had to get back just one, so I did the division in cost.) Only a simulation...
SMB3-like stuff, spit chain gag (each person expectorates on the next), CNN ‘centrists’ and newspaper people becoming permanent on FNC,...the last one contains Will Farrell in a “behind the scenes extras” extras.
Premonition dream: right foot shoelaces come undone. That’s it?
Elaborate Batman feature: Joker needs the lights on a train shut off, Batman runs into the tunnel, finding nothing; it’s a trap The not-quite-PG-13 part: two girls, each fans of either the villain or the hero, holding hands,...in the shower together, nudity. Media exploit the two, walking in the field. Fires and incandescent lights—“Shut the lights off!”
Of course, I don’t remember the other content.
The universe around you is a dream, however less fluid due to all belief.
It will change for you if you know how to interpret the whats and hows of what you do. Beliefs,
which can make things constant (bad beliefs kill), are generated on sight. Have few,
responsible ones, and things will be more fluid. You can acquire optimism on its face, and
understand that you live in the best universe... that changes for you if you interpret the signs in
conjunction with your aim. Allow what you experience to help and you will be helped (spirits,
angels, etc.).
I am having my share of things that could of turned out worse, informationally, but the more I believed in good the more the past started changing! Weird, but survivable outcomes versus death and...well, some forms of blindness aren’t as bad as thought by those who see. And the foundation in your fractal world shifts with beliefs of everyone (just you, if you’ve been completely alone). The past only believed by any is set in stone— only a more solid dream, the world lived in when awake. And opportunities drip in. Put the bad where it belongs, and you will prosper. Guaranteed. Get the timing right and even patience will go the way of belief. (Don’t just go fixing things in their place!) Keep moving, and don’t let any badness get in your way. (Don’t just stand around...like me.)
The more bad things you believe the more you’re stuck in a bad world. The more good things you believe the better your world. Even ‘matter’ is called ‘matter’ because it matters— also fluid when it’s electron bounds are stopped. The nature of your body body might set the past in stone, but take the information given correctly and your world will move for you.
(Note that changes in the past cannot be verified—things would be set in place, in a different manner altogether.)
| root | 2010 | 2011 |