Dream Log: September 6, 2002

Anyway, The dream I remember starts out with me in prison. I think I did something "bad" in an earlier dream and as a result I am in the slammer. But it's not like the real slammer, its just a guy keeping me locked in a room. I don't see any other prisoners, but it is definitely a state-run thing. Now this is the only fuzzy part of the dream: I think they executed me, although I am not sure. Either that or I attempted an escape because I am in jail again later but I distinctly remember being locked up once already (okay, I know that if they executed me I wouldn't still be alive, but hey this is a dream it doesn't have to make any freaking sense). So know I am on death row (again?) and I am getting special treatment from the guards because of it. They are doing me favors and stuff, but not too many because I am also on bad behavior. Sometime when I am talking to the guards I realize that I should feel really bad for something I did in the past. Whatever caused me to be on death row should be plauging my conscience. But it's not. So I suddently come to the Eureka! type conclusion that I never did anything that deserved capital punishment.

At this point in the dream I have a semi-lucid state of mind. Basically I realize that something is wrong with the dream and I know I don't have to follow the rules. However I do not completely realize it is a dream and that I am sleeping. So I break out of jail with my newfound powers. I think I might have physically attacked the guards, but I didn't care because I knew that they weren't really ... real.

As I am escaping I think to look and see if my dream is in color, and it is. Vivid 32bpp 75Hz 1024x768 startling color, full with bump-mapping, ray tracing, and everything. But I have done this before, and during the dream I always think it is color, but when I wake up I remember it being black and white. So I look again a little bit later. And it is still full color, I distinctly remember seeing someone's shirt and the different colors in it.

So now the captors are giving chase, and I need to flee fast. Whenever this used to happen in my dreams I could do a float/jump really high/fly kinda thing. I use trees to jump off of, and get away fairly quickly. So for some reason I am able to get far enough away that they can't find me anymore, and I stop worrying about them chasing me. Although by now I have completely forgotten that this was all a dream. I think something else uneventfull happened, but I am not sure. The dream quickly melded into some other dream like they always do.

It wasn't as green as I'd imagined. It looked more like Nebraska or California.

I was sitting on a wrap-around porch of a rather large house (I never looked back to see what the house looked like, though). wertperch, or someone looking a lot like him, was there. What the hell, I thought. I might as well see some of my britnoder friends while I'm here...

"How do I get to Durham from here?"

"Oh, that'll be about six and twenty five."

"Six hours?"

"Six and 2.5. Six and... twenty five. Six and two. Six....."

"Six and a half hours?"

"Right."

So I hopped in my trusty Accord and off I went.

Puzzlingly, I was still driving on the right-hand side of the road. Something told me that some of the roads in England were like that; sometimes you drive on the right, sometimes on the left.

I still hadn't figured out how I got my car all the way across the Atlantic.

I drove for a short time. The terrain reassuringly changed to a greener hue, and the ground seemed moist, and it felt like it was raining. But there were no drops coming out of the sky.

The next thing I remember, I was a twenty-something woman of blatantly asian descent. I was in a restaurant, it looked like, and there was a bit older woman at the counter.

I have this nasty habit in my dreams. I seem to assume that the person I am looking at is the person that I am at the time.

But it didn't make sense. Repeatedly I moved in and out of her perspective, but was looking from the outside as the woman behind the counter threw a knife through my subject's chest. As far as I could tell, no words were exchanged.

I feel nothing, but I stumble with the woman out the door, as I am once again the woman, staggering in front of a couple police officers, still not feeling anything. But I collapse on the ground. The officers are having a conversation.

I think to myself: Surely, I must be good at something.

One officer looks down from his conversation.

"Yeah, like cardio. Cardio... Car.. Cardiac. Cardiac arrest."

The other officer nods in agreement, and I walk away from the woman on the ground, down the busy street in some business district in some city.

I don't think it was in England.