I don't usually remember my dreams. I assume I dream every night. By the time I'm coherent and awake, if there were any dreams, they're no longer in my consciously accessible memory. I rather like it that way.

A couple nights ago, I can't remember exactly when, I dreamed I was driving. Very realistic. I can recall feeling the steering wheel under my leather gloved hands. I could feel the brisk air and see frost on the windows. There was a car immediately in front of me. The terrain was unfamiliar, but it seemed like any partially commercial, partially residential sort of district anywhere in Texas, with large green trees draped on either side of the roadway and occasional buildings like convenience stores and gas stations and the like passing by outside the car windows. I was looking out the windshield.

Then my gaze looked up over the back of the tan hatchback directly in front of me. The gaze continued going up and over the hatchback and above the trees, as if I had left my corporeal body behind in the car, and I heard the car explode beneath me as it ran out of control and hit the surrounding cars. I looked over the trees in front of me, and saw a large adobe brick building. Fire coming out of its every portal, and the explosions, fire and chaos below me increased. I looked at the building in horror, and heard screaming, and sensed people dying everywhere. In my corporeal state, I could do nothing but witness the tragedy all about me. I noticed I was floating closer and closer to the adobe brick building now completely engulfed by flames. I could feel the heat on my disembodied face. Though I could touch nothing and felt myself like a spectral spirit going through the tops of the trees unable to grasp anything to slow my inertia, I knew the fires inside the building were hot enough to cause me pain and possibly destroy my soul, yet was unable to avoid slowly inching into them. I screamed.

Then I woke up. Got out of bed. Had some soy milk egg nog, tried to shake it off, watched a little TV and attempted to go back to sleep.

I don't remember my dreams very often.

I like it that way.

I think I'm in trouble, I had my first dream about E2.First off,I must explain the appearance of this Strange E2 in a strange land.
Some visual design genius must have given E2 a lookthrough, as everything was done in a gorgeous aqua-like theme that seemed ripped from the GTK theme of the same name. The Java Chatterbox had been stabilized and integrated into a small frame that occupied at the top right-hand corner of the browser, because the catbox refreshed independently of everything else.

Now, some of the new features:

Who are you?

Mojo Jojo

At that time, somehow I knew the Everything 2 Civil War that originally surfaced about the same time of my arrival here on E2 had occured again, this leading to an E2 Dark Ages and E2 Feudalism. How I became a lord and all of those noders and they my lowly vassals I don't know, but my homenode showed Me as a pseudo_god with only 28 writeups. hmm. I guess all of the XP and w/us of my vassal noders counts for me.

Absorb jessicapierce?

yes no

I clicked yes, and then woke up.

/me is scared.

It's been years, but I finally had one of my Lucid Movie Dreams. No, not a dream about some Hollywood flick, but a dream where I am awake and can partially direct what is happening. They're the only ones that I know are in vivid colour. The three short stories I wrote that were published were all from previous lucid movie dreams.

This one was a science fiction, and it was not a pleasant one. My movie dreams tend to have a large gamut of emotions involved, and this was no exception.

The Scene

A rogue planet was on a collision course with Earth at an amazingly high speed. The government found it first, but word leaked out that it was 90% likely to be a dead-on collision. Most of the dream dealt with the interactions of people who were about to become vapor.

I worked at NASA as a satellite technician. One of the satellites I worked with was taking the measurements of the incoming ball of doom, and I found out that there was no doubt... it was going to be a direct hit, "within one-tenth of a mile from the centre of mass." That sentence kept ringing in my ears. We all had about five days to live, and the Earth would simply not exist anymore. Humanity would be a footnote in the celestial scheme of things.

The Conflict

After talking with my colleagues, I found out what the last day would be like. Massive tectonic activity would dwarf any earthquake that had happened before. I was living in San Diego, and there would be a line of volcanos appearing along the Rose Canyon faultline. The atmosphere would begin to become unbreathable. There would be no place to hide.

I tried to get a set of cyanide pills for myself, my wife and three kids, but they were long gone. Panic was spreading through downtown San Diego, and it was difficult to get around. I had a Hummer, a 4 wheel drive military-designed vehicle, so I was able to get around.

I stopped at at the Bonita Mall in Chula Vista. A friend of mine was there, and I told him I would help him get home. I was picking up some ammunition for my sidearm. Luckily it was a 50cal pistol, and there was ammo left. I remember paying the guy with cash, and we were morbidly laughing about it. What good was a concept like money at a time like this?

My friend went off for a few minutes and came back with several bottles of green hot sauce. He gave me one, and told me it was laced with an almost instantaneous poison. We went out to my Hummer and I drove him home.

I remember walking in my front door with my wife and kids looking at me expectantly. I took my wife aside and told her what was to come. She cried for a long while, and I told her about the hot sauce of death.

That night we had Mexican food.

The End

I remember looking at my kid's faces, with their trusting expressions. I put the hot sauce on their burritos. As they lifted their forks, my wife woke me up. Luckily I was spared from the real ending of the dream. My wife told me that I looked very uncomfortable, and decided to wake me up. I really love that woman...

Tonight's menu was to be burritos (no joke). I think we'll have pizza instead.

I dreamed last night of a lost love, a heartbeat in time with a spirit so bright I was blinded to the rest of the world. It was wild-eyed and pure, both of us sleepless and psychotic, stoned always, discussing Dylan, Voltaire, the nature of Tao. Calling my mom at 4 a.m. on half a bottle of cheap bourbon to describe the way she smoked her cigarettes, the oceans in her eyes.

It ended so abruptly, as travellers do, a kiss in the airport and I handed her my rosary for safekeeping. We were fascinated with each other, parting, vowing to meet again someday as the great Beats did and share stories. She stayed close to me, her spirit, as brief, intense friendships do. Her memory sealed in perfection, and I never fell out of love.

I dreamed she returned last night, I had shaved my head, and she had become vigilantly political. I presented her with a red vinyl box I'd created and we wandered the halls of a party, suddenly hating each other as women-friends are wont to do. I escaped finally to climb the ladders of a parking garage and look over the city, chaos in the streets, and I woke almost crying.

The purity of her memory had shattered, everything she represented to me had changed. One of the few souls in this world I held sacred, and in the course of a dream, she dissolved to confusion and hurt without warning. It angers me, the nature of change, that perfection can only exist in retrospect, and only for so long. Nothing gold can stay.

I was in a classroom, having a German lesson. All classes I've taken anywhere past the age of 12 have been in classrooms with those high school style desks: basically an uncomfortable little chair with an armrest and a writing surface welded onto one side, and a storage basket hanging underneath. (Well, that's not true...most of my classes in a real university were in movie theater sized lecture halls, but still with little writing surfaces that swung out from the armrest.) Before that, in elementary school, we had these tables that seated 4-6 people, and had a storage basket for each person attached to the underside of the tabletop. For some reason, the classroom for my German class had those old elementary school tables.

Sitting next to me was Zoe, my friend from the last real German class I took. When I realized where I was, and that she was sitting there with me, I got excited. I miss Zoe so much! I wanted to ask her all about Pittsburgh and her dark, reddish hair that looks like sunlight passing through a glass of cherry coke. Just as cute dimples appeared on her cheeks and she had cleared her throat to talk to me some more about her adventures riding on city buses, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

Oh my god! I hadn't seen Angela for years, and here she was sitting at the table next to mine. Her dark tan, her short black hair, and that silly grin on her face. She asked me some more about Plato, which is what we used to always talk about in our favorite coffee house. Specifically, whether my opinions had changed regarding the universal clockwork described in the Timaeus, and how it related to scientology. I reacted hysterically to her question, because in real life my ex girlfriend had just called me up to share with me that she was getting involved with the Church of Scientology. I could probably do it, but it'd be a bit of a stretch for me to try and relate the Timaeus with scientology. So I just asked how she was doing and I let her question fade away into the dream. Just as one of those silly things that occur in dreams.

The professor started, well, professing. He kept pointing his finger in the air, and he sounded like Dexter as he kept saying, "Ich bin ein Berliner du fromage!" Yes, "du fromage" is the French way to say something's cheesy. (You know that Dexter's Laboratory episode? "Omelette du fromage!") Angela pulled out a blue box of cigarettes that had "Du Fromage!" written on it, and she excused herself to go to the bathroom and smoke.

All of a sudden, the professor needed more paper. Why, I don't know. He just did. Lots of it. Inches upon inches of thick stacks of paper. He needed them, and he came to me to get them. Alas, I had none. "You're good friends with Angela, does she have some? She left her stuff," he asked. I think my mind had things confused. The professor didn't know Angela. He knew Zoe, and recognized that we were pals and always assumed I could answer for her in her absense. But not Angela. I accused the professor of smoking crack as a source of his confusion. And he confessed! And he was going to sell the stacks of paper to buy even more crack. So I opened up Angela's notebook and handed him a 2 inch thick stack of clean, white laser printer paper. He hunched over and drooled like a fiend with crazy eyes as he flipped through the paper he had just scored, counting the sheets.

Then Zoe started making out with me, but just before anything more than kissing occurred my Palm Pilot started beeping at me in real life, and I woke up. A project I was on last year that was discontinued had these weekly meetings each Friday morning. My lazy ass hasn't updated the calendar in my Palm Pilot to remove those meetings from my schedule. That stupid fucking project just cost me a wet dream with Zoe!

Often, my dreams are little jokes.

I was driving in a familiar area. It was very dark. I approached a traffic light. The signal was red in parentheses.

Confused, I hesitated, but decided to treat it as a yield. It was late and the coast was clear, so I proceeded through the intersection.

Immediately, sirens blared and lights flashed behind me. I pulled the car over and rolled down the window, admitting the angry face of a policeman. He shouted, "Don't you know what to do when it's red in parentheses?"

I didn't.

I woke up.

I still don't. If anyone knows the correct protocol, please message me...

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