I was in the back garden of a big house. There was a party going on, with loud music, drink and drugs. I decided to show off a bit, and started spinning round really really fast. Eventually was spinning with such speed that to everyone else, I was a blur. At this point I hopped into the air, and (perhaps because I was spinning so fast) I stayed there, rotating like a floating spinning top 6 feet off the floor. This was cool. I often have dreams that I can fly / float / jump really high, but this was better. I could control my balance and speed by moving my arms, and I knew that everyone in the garden was watching my display.

After a few minutes (I wasn't even beginning to get dizzy!) I collapsed dramatically into a crouch, and slowly floated down the ground, my spin decelerating. The crowd cheered, and I eventually scrunched my toes to stop myself totally. I found that although I could still jump on the roof of the house (which I did a few times - but got bored at having to lower myself carefully from the windowsill) , after my previous balletic performance, no-one was impressed.

I was at work. Why do I always dream about work? For some reason, the most inept technician was doing something on my computer in my cubicle, and I was trying patiently to assist him, but after awhile, I couldn't take it anymore and I had to go on a break. I told him, Don't fuck up anything and I left to go to a park and play on the swingset.

When I got there, the normal two-chains-and-a-rubber-seat swings had been replaced with tire swings, but I thought better that than nothing, so I began to swing and I began to forget about the idiot that I left using my computer.

Shortly thereafter, a kid in his late teens or early twenties with a shaved head and a trenchcoat comes up to the swingset where I am playing. He looks like a suspicious character, and he had a tattoo of something on his bald head, but I don't remember what. However, I have always been somewhat of a trusting person, even in real life and I know not to judge others from their outward appearances, especially since this kid looked very upset.

He walked directly up to me and asked, Do you know what I'm going to do?

No. Who are you?

That doesn't matter. I am going to kill myself today.

You really don't want to do that.

Yes I do. I already bought the rope.

Why are you going to do this?

It doesn't matter. I don't have anything. I don't have a girlfriend anymore. I got kicked out of my house. I already bought the rope. I just don't have any money to buy any cigarettes though.


Yeah, I need a cigarette before I can do this. Kind of like when you're being executed, right?

Well, I'll give you some money to buy cigarettes if you want. You know I really don't want you killing yourself though.

And then I gave the kid fifteen dollars - I had twenty, but I needed to save some for lunch, I remember thinking. He tried to give me some of the weed he had on him, but I told him I didn't smoke, and that he should think about what he's going to do and make sure it is the right decision.

Then I remember running as fast as I could back to work.

When I got there, the idiot had tried to install CuteFTP on my machine and had not succeeded in doing anything but making a mess of my Dell and I was highly irritated, but I was too weirded out by what had happened during my break really to care. I yelled at him, asking him why he was in my cube, and he said, "I'm watching Army of Darkness." I just walked away.

And every time thereafter that I tried to tell someone about the kid at the park, I found that I could never finish the story - there would be an interruption, something would come up - and I found myself unable to tell anyone about the suicidal teenager on the swingset, rendering me helpless to keep him from taking his life.

I never found out what happened to him.

      We're in a small town. I don't know how I got here, but we're both here -- Jessica and I, and we're staying at a motel of some sort.

      The small town locale is a reoccurring theme for me in my dreams. Perhaps because I was raised in one. This town is not unlike any other small town, subtle in it's charms, but we are on our way somewhere, perhaps on a trip. We have all of our stuff with us - including my two cats Shittie and Tasha and my ball python, Basil. We are also traveling with Jessica's pet rat, although really she doesn't have a pet rat. For some very strange reason it shares Basil's cage with him.

      The motel we are in is sort of dingy, but not too bad. The room we had rented is actually pretty large, with a big bathroom. This is good, because we for some reason have all of our pets with us. The carpet is a very ugly brown shag. The motel hasn't been remodeled in a very long time.

      We leave to continue on our journey, but once we get on the freeway Jessica's car, Kevin, starts to run badly. We sputter off of the nearest exit ramp, while she curses our bad luck. We both hope that we can find a service station. Luckily, there's one right off of the expressway off-ramp. It's all very strange, however, because:

      It's the exact same town that we just left.

      After checking the car in, we decide to stay in the same motel again. Once we get in the room, I notice the empty six-pack of bottles on the floor that I had drank the night prior. I find this very strange and comment on how they must not do very much housecleaning here. When I turn around, though, I am greeted by something else even stranger:

      We had forgotten Basil and the rat.

      While we were gone, somehow the rat had scared Basil so much that he had pried the cage lid open with his head and had gotten himself stuck between the top of the cage and the galvanized steel lid. The pressure had suffocated him in a way, and his body was shriveled up and black. You would think that he had died, but he kept moving. He then tried to crawl back into his cage, but in doing so, something impeded his progress:

      He lost his head. It fell off in a very disgusting show, right on the floor - plop!

      In his cage, now with no head, Basil is obviously dead. But he wasn't dead. He kept moving around in the cage, just like normal. Jessica is so shaken by seeing this that she covers her eyes. I decide to pick Basil up and have a better look. The stump where his head was had healed perfectly. He was moving around in my hands as effortlessly as he did when he was a baby:

      A snake with no head.

I dreamt a dream I hadn't had since childhood. Back then I used to think of it as a nightmare. I would be at the top of a helter skelter. It was always a big old fashioned one, tapering toward the top like lighthouse, with a red spiral swirl all around it. As I sat at the top, the coir mat prickling at my bare thighs, I would feel a tingle of excitement at the prospect of the ride I was about to enjoy. I would push off and the world would blur and warp as I scooshed over the wooden lats of the helter skelter. Round and round I went. Until, as I rounded the last turn, I would be faced with the gaping maw of a whale. It was cartoon like in it's size and simple outline, but as I hurtled into it's mouth a scream already jolting me awake it seemed frighteningly real to me.

This time though it was different.

As I sat the top of the helter skelter, felt that prickle of the mat, it was all suddenly familiar. At first a sense of deja vu, then the realisation that it was a dream and more importantly a dream I had had before. Now it was no longer a nightmare, the ride down the slide was fun, exhilarating. As I approached the bottom I saw the cartoon whale, I knew it was coming. I saw now it was made from glass fibre and as I slid into it I laughed and let out a wheeee of glee. I awoke and almost laughed, the dream was the same but my perspective had changed and I no longer needed to be afraid.

My wife was very sick, lying in a bed, fading away. She was saying things to me, but I can't remember what they were. She held my hand, closed her eyes, laid back.

Then she died.

That was the exact point where I woke up, and I practially dove over to the other side of the bed and wrap my arm around her to make sure that she was, in fact, still there. I knew I'd been dreaming, but I had to be sure. It scared me that much.

Mind you, this is an extremely weird dream to have in the wee hours the morning after you've been making love to the most important woman in your life. I was trying to think of what could have brought it on, and I remembered Michael.

Michael is this little boy my wife provided at-home day care for for quite a while. He was arranged for adoption by a family in town with three other children, before they found out he'd been born to a teenage mother who tried to hide the pregnancy and the birth both. He didn't enter this world properly, and as a result had massive brain and nervous damage. He was described as "basically a brain stem", blind and deaf, and wasn't expected to live for very long at all.

But Michael turned out to be a fighter for every bit of life he could grab hold of. He lived for nearly two years, and while he never could talk or walk, he could make sounds and smile when he felt a comfortable or a tickling touch. And even though he was supposed to be deaf, he was seen to smile on more than one occasion when someone was singing a peaceful song nearby.

On Christmas Day last year, Michael had to go to the hospital. His breathing was becoming difficult; the diagnosis was that his weakened brain was becoming exhausted with the effort of keeping his body alive. He was expected to live a few days. Again, he exceeded expectations.

All this time, I wanted to go over to the family's house and visit Michael one more time, but his parents were usually too upset or else too busy to have one more guest coming to see him. I never did get that chance.

Last night, though, my wife got a phone call from Michael's parents that he wasn't expected to live through the night. She told me about that, early in the evening. And that's what I remembered after I woke up from my dream. Remember that episode of Babylon 5 where Kosh is killed by the Shadows, and just before his death he appears in a dream to Sheridan as his father, to share some final words? Well, I couldn't help but think maybe Michael had just passed away, and the dream was sort of my way of visiting him before he went.

In the morning, my wife woke up before me (as she always does) to get another day care charge, a healthy infant boy named A.J., and then returned to bed with him while I shower. As I got dressed, she told me that we'd gotten a phone message at 10:30 the night before that Michael had passed away.

No psychic links there, then. I don't know exactly when my dream happened, but I'm sure it was after midnight.

Still, though, it makes you wonder.


So runs my dream: but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.

Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam 54

How odd, I've remembered 2 dreams in a row, but this one is much longer and raises many questions in me.

The first dream (which probably lead to the second) was about me trying to return this book I bought last night. In real life, I had thought that the book looked a bit more battered than usual compared to other new books, but it was still a new book. It was a paperback in real life, but in the dream, it was a hardcover and looked like shit. The side was ripped, so I decided to return it to where I had bought it (at Chapters, and for some reason I was at the back of Chapters):

    "Hi, I was wondering if I could return this, because I had overlooked the side of the book (shows the side)."

    "Oh that looks pretty bad. No problem, sir. We'll replace a new one for you."

And that was the end of the first dream. The second dream was a bit longer. I was at McDonalds (beurk!) with a couple of friends when suddenly I notice this Goth girl with a dark teal shirt pelting dirt from the MacDonalds garden. I comment to my friend: "She's hot." And my friend nods. After we finish eating, I pass by her and she's crying while pelting the dirt. I ask her why she's crying and she replies with a sob. I tell my friends to meet me at the car so I can talk to her. I asked her again: "What's wrong?" Then somehow she tells me that she has money troubles and she owes the government $5000 and she doesn't know how to repay them. I say that I could help her. I don't have $5000, but I could help her. And then later on, I give her this long speech about not tricking me into lending her more money and that she must be perfectly honest. I am reassured by her continuous sobs and take her with my friends' jeep to ride off somewhere.

Then the dream moves on and I think this is months after. We're not really going out (me and the Goth girl), but we're very good friends, but there is something strange that is separating us. We are at my friend's house and wanted to show us this video. For some odd reason he was rewinding his tape with a controller from a Radio controlled car. He played his tape and it was this YTV-like commercial where this guy dressed in a Captain America suit was coming out of a TV while this teenage boy was going to sleep having the TV beside him (it makes no sense). It was supposed to be a spinoff from an actual YTV commmercial (I don't know whether that's true in Real life or not). Anyways, my friend's mom kicks us out of the house, so we decide to go somewhere in my friend's jeep. I am the last one leaving and I notice a picture of my friend's older sister on a table near the door. Suddenly her sister comes out and tells my friend that she's going somewhere and my friend leaves the house and somehow my friend's sister ends up talking to her mom and her mom gave me some weird Bible saying and I quickly ran.

I arrive at the jeep beside the Goth girl -- only now she's not Gothy anymore, she's got bleached hair and a white shirt and everything. She looks like the antithesis of Goth. Anyways, I tell my friends that my friend's mom had given a weird Bible quote to me and they all laughed.

    Kristen: "Why were you running so fast?"

    me: "Justin's mom freaked me out."

    Kristen: "again?" (laughing)

    reverse-Goth girl: "What if?" (probably meaning 'As if')

    me puzzled.

A rather peculiar experience at 3 in the morning led me to having a disturbing dream. At 3, I was awoken to the sound of my old music box on my windowsill, which had not played properly for a few months now, playing rythmically. My cat jumped off my bed, to the floor, where she vomited up what looked like her small intestine engulfed in hairs, not quite a hairball and disgusting to look at.

So I went back to sleep. And in this so called dream that I had, I had taken my cat to the hospital and was told that she had Parkinson's Disease. I accepted this as the truth, and I went home and over to the theater where I was now employed as a stagehand. The employees there were all members of my academic team, even the meek protegés we have collected for next year's team. One of the boys on the team, James, approached me and moved his arms around me, swooped me down and tried to kiss me. I asked him what he thought he was doing. He said, "Ben is not here!" I was rather upset, and asked around to find out where Ben was. Someone told me he was back in Columbia visiting his mother in the hospital. She had ruptured her stomach.

But Ben returns, and I am telling him about James's attempts to seduce me and whisk me away, and he doesn't really care. He's tired. So we sit at school on a sidewalk, and I kiss him, but he keeps talking about some device on his shirt collar that tells him how many people are around him. I count that there are 7 people behind him, and he then tells me the number. I can't find the point in this. He's still tired, so I take him to a room in a hotel where I am staying and I throw him on a bed. He is laying on the 3rd bed in the room, which I didn't know was there. And he says, "I have to go now. My mom needs me." and leaves. I wake up.

The dream starts in a fairly innocuous way - we're all at dinner, at a nice but slightly eccentric restaurant. It's late. I recall boisterous laughter around the table; many toasts with wine, good coffee, friends, conversation. The hour grows late. The restaurant, apparently, is closing down, and rather than letting us wind down, they become increasingly rude. This simply makes us carry on longer.

Finally, the lights are turned down. The restaurant looks like it is built inside a cave, or mineshaft - lots of natural stone, and no windows, with some few flickering light sources. We sigh, acknowledge the hour, and begin to look for our coats. There are many missing.

Our waiter returns abruptly with a pile of coats, which he throws at us, and vanishes again. I'm beginning to become ticked off, but my friends (who live nearby) are laughing; apparently, the 1 of the staff is part of the restaurant's 'character' and isn't actually real. I shrug and pull on my coat.

On the way out, however, we reach an antechamber from which the only exit is in a corner, and there are many packing crates and boxes stacked around. From the exit door pour five or six soldiers, armed with rifles, in nineteenth-century uniforms that appear to be an amalgam of Napoleonic and Russian pattern. Four of them level rifles at us. The leader starts barking orders; my friends and I look at each other. I look to them to explain that this, too, is part of the cachet of the eatery, but they look frightened, which doesn't help my frame of mind.

Finally, in a curious sort of high, I reach the end of my patience with the officer's barking, incomprehensible speech, and casually elbow the nearest soldier in the face. He goes over backwards, and I end up with his rifle. There is a sudden pause, as everyone looks at each other, and then a whirlwind of motion as some of my friends and some of the restaurant staff (who have appeared from the back, dressed like Romany) jump the remaining soldiers. All are down, save one; he escapes out the door in the corner with two or three of us in hot pursuit.

On the other side of the door, there is a container truck trailer parked across the room. This leaves a narrow flat space with the container squeezing us against the wall. I catch the fleeing soldier and throw him up against the truck's side. We struggle. The waiter (now with long black hair, looking much like Lo from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) grabs the soldier's shirt while tossing me a small object. I catch it; it's a small, slightly archaic revolver.

We're both acutely aware that there may be other soldiers on the other side of the container, and like all semitrailers, this one doesn't go to the floor; there's a three to four foot gap under it which (as far as I can tell out of the corner of my eye) appears to be stacked with empty pallets, boxes, and the like.

The waiter, struggling with the soldier, says to me "Brain him with that." Makes sense to me; no gunfire to alert others. I take the revolver, and holding it flat in my palm smash it against the bridge of the soldier's nose like they do in movies. Surprisingly, it works, and he falls bonelessly.

By this point, others (friends, staff) are crowding in through the door. I duck under the trailer, and see two or three soldiers milling about on the other side, windows behind them. Windows mean outside; outside means freedom. I take aim at one, and have time to realize that in real life I've rarely fired a revolver and not done too well when I have. I adjust aim slightly and mentally shrug, pulling the trigger - there's a flat CRACK and my target throws up his arms and falls over backwards. The others shout and begin to unsling their rifles, but I move to each in turn - CRACK-PAM and they join the other. I can hear distant shouting, probably from outside. I duck back under and hand the revolver back to the waiter, who nods and ducks under the container. Rushing back into the anteroom to find my friends and some of the staff, I ask the latter where the weapons are.

One shakes his head. "Tell Karl that closets one and four are empty." I don't know what this means, precisely, except it isn't good. I rush back out front and relay the news to the waiter, who is picking off soldiers running into the room on the other side. He shakes his head.

"We must split up, then."

And we do. I don't know how. I'm driving a Lexus up an incredibly steep and snowy mountain road, one that twists and turns through woods. I am grateful there's no ice, just snow; the traction control and the V8 engine get me over the worst bits. I come to a man standing in the road, his arm up to stop me. I stop and get out. It's a soldier; this one is dressed in what appears to be World War II Russian garb, and is carrying what looks like a small recoilless rifle over his shoulder, holding a machine pistol in his hands. I approach. He looks at me suspiciously.

"You don't look like part of the space program." He raises the machine pistol, and I hurriedly raise my hands before speaking.

"Oh, I am, I am…I'm trying to get up to the peak, but this -" I gesture to the Lexus- "isn't really the best way. I was about to start walking."

"Oh, I see. Well, I'm walking there, you can join me."

I nod eagerly and retrieve my coat from the back seat of the car before rejoining the soldier. We begin slogging up the road. I am thinking frantically; I know I have to get rid of him. I have to stop the launch; the booster on the launch pad atop the mountain is carrying a surplus Soviet killersat, and is intended to detonate itself next to the ISS. The resulting chaos will allow the Russian government to continue funding Mir.

A kilometer or so further on, it's quite dark except for a light on the soldier's helmet and lanterns we both carry. I turn to him as if to speak, and suddenly chop at his throat. He clutches his Adam's apple and falls backwards. I feel guilty, but I need the weapon on his back to stop the rocket launch. I roll atop him. Unlike before, this movie move hasn't worked; he's still conscious and looking at me in fury while trying to breathe. I hit him several more times across the bridge of the nose using the edge of my hand; this hurts terribly but appears to knock him out at least temporarily.

Breathing hard, I roll him out of his cloak and coat, and yank his rucksack and the rifle off him. As I'm transferring the ammo and gear for the rifle into the rucksack from the frame to which it's attached, a light comes up the road. I hurriedly finish, and throw his cloak over the small pile of military gear I'd extracted from his form before turning to wave down the light.

The light turns out to be a lantern carried by an older woman. She is followed by a group of strangely-moving things, some of which carry lanterns whose light illuminates all around them except the bearers. Strange shadows flit back and forth. She runs up to us, asking what happened. I tell her that I found the boy (the soldier can't be more than eighteen) lying here, arriving just too late to help his father, who had slid over the edge of the road and down the ravine. She pales, remarking that the water down there is deep and fast at this point. We agree that the soldier must be moved to hospital, and while she turns to make arrangements with her crew, I see his eyes flutter and clock him again just in case.

Her companions turn out to be skeletons. Greenish colored, they are, with bony smiles. They look like something that has shambled directly out of Quake. Three or four of them stare intently at me, grinning, holding lanterns high, as the rest bundle the soldier off down the hill after the woman. I* have the feeling they know I'm lying, but since my motives will lead to chaos, they approve. One approaches to look me in the eye - I hold my ground - and reaches out a bony digit.

The chill when he touches my nose is acute, and I scream and wake up.

There's a ferret licking my nose.


It started when I heard some weird noises coming from the top bunk. Was my roommate masturbating? Ridiculous! He's the least sexual person there is. Fade out. Fade in. I go to the bathroom. When I get out, the lights in the room are on, and he's up there fooling around with some black guy. He wants to explain himself. I sit on the couch and let him explain. Except that couch doesn't really exist, proving that it was all a dream after all. Spooky.

Later on, there was something with a girl. I don't think she was anybody specific; just remember a brief moment towards the end. Very sexual.

On a trip with many people from high school (maybe something to do with drama), a female teacher, and my dad. We got to the second hotel, which was off-white with pink trim. I was headed towards the elevator to drop bags off in the room when I realized I didn't know where to go, and I couldn't find anybody. I looked around, but didn't go far from the elevator area. Eventually some of them showed up and Dad explained that the rooms were on the first floor. We started going there. That's all.
Video Games
I was with some friends in the desert. We had large butcher knives that we were using to cut up zombies. It works better to slice them than to dice them. I had to get out of there, had to finish my homework, but everyone wanted to stay and finish the plot. I was showing someone how to cut the zombies when Bobby showed up. I wanted to butcher him like the cow in Apocalypse Now, and he tried to bargain with me: said he could show me where to find Zombie 15 if I let him live. A lucrative offer, but not one I planned to take. I woke up before anything else happened.
I'm in Philladelphia, in my dream. I recently came home from Philly, but I'm still there in the dream. I'm smoking a cigarette, which isn't unusual, I've recently quit, but I smoke alot in dreams, but what's unusual is that I was smoking a menthol. (God forbid!) Anyhow, I'm smoking menthols in Philladelphia, reading a newspaper that is printed on red paper with black ink. I'm sitting in a park-ish looking place. It's less of a park and more of a tienamen square type concrete area with lots of benches and a large circular fountain in the center. There are lots of kids skateboarding, however, they look very young, too young to be skating as well as they are. I get distracted by watching the youngsters skateboarding, and drop my cigarette onto the newspaper, and the newspaper catches on fire immediately, as if soaked in kerosene. I throw the paper down, however, don't act startled by the flash fire, I feel more upset about loosing the menthol.
I remember hearing that skateboard-grinding-noise that I find so irritating, the on that comes either when a board grinds on a rail or bench, or when the board is turned perpendicular to the direction that it is moving (understand?).

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