(For thy browsing pleasure: Previous day and my previous dream / Next day / Next dream / Wolf's Dreamworld )

Again, whatever I remember from the last night's dream...

Another travelling dream...?

In one part, I was in Helsinki-Vantaa airport. It was night outside the airport, the sky was pitch black and the lights of the airport had yellowish tint of bulbs. Apparently this was a domestic flight, because I worried about my passport and then thought "oh, yeah, no need for that".

Well, I think we returned to home at some point to get stuff that everyone had been forgetting.

I took my photography equipment, I had a lots of stuff I wanted to take with me and I was supposed to stuff that to the small space I had. I had no space for my small fixed focus camera, my SLR took almost all of the space in my bag (strange), so I gave it to my mother. I had rolls of film there, but the plastic film roll package cylinders, whatever they're called, had just shreds of the film package cardboard. I have a Leatherman clone, but as I found it, it had broken to two pieces (Chinese Quality™)

I think that I and a largish group of other people were waiting for our flight in a small room, watching some movies from video and... singing. A strangely familiar guy (in the dream I couldn't remember who that was and I don't remember now either - in the dream I thought that might have been a music teacher of mine) was in the front of the room with an acoustic guitar. Apparently he knew who I was, because he asked me a question (and I didn't remember the answer at that time either).

..I'm imprisoned. Literally.

The jail cell looks suspiciously like my dorm room. I wake in my dream to the sound of the guard looking in. I hear him make some kind of comment about there only being one person in here... but I know that isn't right, because I can see in the mirror that I have a cellmate in the bunk above me. (It's Mike, my friend's roommate I met last night.)

The guards move on. Mike vaults out of bed and lands in a heap on the floor. There must be a camera of some kind watching us, as next to him is an Everything-style display. He is voted up considerably. I make some kind of comment about him waking up before he gets out of bed.

We are taken out to where presumably we spend our days. It is a huge steep indoor slope of green benches or tiers or railings of some sort.. We are up near the top; there's only one fellow above us. I hear people talking about the great jailbreaks... Jack Lewis's two endeavors, and the one in Gigi. The fellow above me is talking to some fellow below me about some guy who actually spoke real Russian while carrying out his assignment of repainting his tier. I lean against mine, but it's seriously not secure; it leans forward horribly, and I fall all the way to the bottom.

The dream goes on. I forget what, until...

Someone asks me what I'd like to do. They take me to the jail's carpentry, and tell me if I like this, why don't I do it? I reply that everyone I know who does this is already missing at least one finger. I'm not assigned the job, but I am told to put all the equipment on its shelves. I pick up a handheld circular saw. It turns on automatically and startles me. I try to turn it off but I can't... It seems that the switch--stupidly placed right next to the spinning blade--is loose. I throw it across the room instead.

I remember hearing that people cut themselves with these things and never notice till they see it, and I look myself over. There are several deep parallel slices all the way down the side of my right hand and cutting through most of my pinky. There are also some less serious cuts on the right-hand side of my torso. I run for help, calling out for first aid. I reach the main gate of the prison--no, it's my dorm's lobby. I have been yelling for help the whole way here, but there is none ready. I show them my hand and keep screaming First aid! Can't you see I'm hurt? But they ignore me as if I weren't there.

- / +

  • In the letter she says "Yes, peach, everything here is peach. Especially Frito, the roasted meat pie."
  • Since we can rearrange nodelets I am wondering how one would look next to the bed. Kramer worries about me and comes in and out of the room where I am pretending to be asleep. Eventually I do sleep and when I wake up he is in the other room arguing with someone. I wonder which of the four hotel rooms I am in and where I should leave the key.

    Kramer comes back in and says into my ear:

    on each other
    in each other

  • In Wisconsin I craved seeing black people, they were rare and became a luxury to me. I stood on the bridge watching the one road that led into town and thought well of course they are this way, there's only the one road.
  • cool smooth silver Latin
  • Driving to the airport I have no headlights. Is it edebroux in the car with me or my little brother and his best friend? Either way, we have forgotten the tickets. Not forgotten, but can't remember when the flight is. I miss the right exit and get lost. Get to the airport and try to ask someone when the flight leaves but they won't answer. Find a phone book to call information but the airport isn't listed and time is running out. I just want to say fuck it and go home but edebroux is counting on me. She is ashamed of me for not having it all under control.
I wake up in the trunk of an old volvo station wagon, wrapped in a red sleeping bag. In the front seat is my old roommate, Heidi, and her French boyfriend, Franck. We appear to be driving towards some mountains which I "recognize" as the Swiss Alps. Somehow we end up on the mountain, and the car has dissappeared. It is time for us to sleep again, but the mountain is precariously steep, and I'm afraid I'm going to slip down the side. I lay my sleeping bag down and find myself sliding down the mountain. Somehow I move myself into a cave so I won't fall down. Then Captain Jean-Luc Picard walks into the cave to make sure there are no bears or mountain lions, and tells me to be more careful next time.

I wake up the next morning to find myself outside the cave, surrounded by my old friends from high school, who are putting on a production of "A Mid-Summer Night's Dream". I then notice that I'm in costume as well, as the fairy queen, Titania. Upon this recognition, I float above the others, and begin dancing.
*dream ends*

Indian Dinner Party, Christ Consciousness, Criminal Genius

  • I've been admitted to Stanford University, along with hundreds of other people I know. I'm excited that I made it, but a little puzzled that everyone else did too. We're all hanging around on orientation day. I pass the time by entering an on-campus guitar store with my friend Adam. I browse the all-acoustic merchandise. Nearby, a dream character who I "remembered" from high school is sitting on the concrete wall that borders the broad lawn, tearing shit up on an electric hollow body guitar, color is vanilla bean cream.

  • I'm at a dinner party in the high-rise apartment of some Indian friends of mine. It seems my entire family and group of friends are in attendance as well. I have a little adventure trying to find the toilet, and hear a little drama from the hostess, Shalini Ghosh, who has given away most of her favorite possessions as party favors. After the party, I say goodbye to her, my dad, my sister, et al. As I walk out into the parking lot on the roof of this high-rise, I feel that I'm close to waking up. I decide I want to stay in the dream and make it more lucid. I utilize two lucid dreaming techniques: dream spinning and looking at my hand as I wiggle my fingers. With arms outstretched to the sides I spin round and round, keeping my balance but not getting dizzy at all. Then I stop and look at my hand. I notice for the first time that I am missing the end of my pinky finger (a condition I have in waking life). I have always wondered if it is missing during dreams and now I know. Now that I am fully lucid, I decide to have another dream.

  • Without ever leaving the parking lot, a carnival springs up around me, along with many dinner tables and hundreds of people. The roof is now a penthouse garden party. All sorts of people are running around, talking, drinking, and having a good time. I decide it's time for some miracles. I fly over to the tables and land near some friends. I grab a glass of wine and throw it at the feet of a nearby girl wearing a long white gown. The red wine splashes all over her and she's cut badly by a flying glass shard, something I didn't intend to do. I run over and with one wave of my hand, remove all the wine. One more wave and the cut foams over like hydrogen peroxide. One final wave and the foam disappears leaving clean, healthy skin. I stand up, a job well-done, and a young man walks over to me. He says, "I have a friend who was seriously injured recently. Tell me his condition." He is testing my telepathic powers. I say, "He is a complete vegetable in a coma; every couple of hours his brain dies and they've inserted a wire into the back of his head to automatically jolt him alive again." He's impressed. "Can you help him?" I smile, who am I, Jesus Christ?. "Easily." For some reason I choose to do something more elaborate that a wave of my hand. I fly off the balcony, over the city, and see a huge spherical sculpture very similar to The Machine from the movie, Contact. My plan is to use that sculpture to focus my energy into a huge healing machine. I will heal everyone on Earth. As I fly down towards the sculpture, however, I'm in the same place but a new dream.

  • The sculpture is completely transfigured. Now it looks like a big white sickle from the Soviet flag. I am no longer in my body, just an omniscient observer (like a movie camera) watching the new main character: the insane, rich, criminal genius that owns the sculpture. He is dying and as a last stab at the planet that gave birth to him, he's built a huge nuclear Doomsday device (the sculpture) that will destroy the entire world. He sits on the balcony of his adjacent mansion, smoking a pipe and surveying the bustling city below. He and his butler walk down a ramp and into the control room of the sculpture. I watch as he smiles and presses the big red button. Dream ends.
I took a nap this afternoon and had a totally wacky dream. There was this large crowd of noders who were running after me, and they wanted to strip me of all my clothes and then petrify me. I remember someone of them had a bucket with a substance that would have petrified me on contact, but only if I was completely naked, so they were using some sort of fishing rods to try to fish my clothes from me. I remember Kit Lo was in that crowd, and dem bones was trying to stop them. The dream ended with them closing down on me, moments before I would have turned into a statue.

Now somebody make a dwyn naked and petrified nodeshell.

I am not making this up.

The Ku Klux Klan is marching in Pasadena. Lots of people have turned out to point and laugh, or jeer, and I wonder what it must feel like to be a Klansman today. I see a discarded hood and robe. I put it on and start to walk around, because I want to see what people will do

Most folks look at me funny, but no one starts any shit. Sometimes the robe gets too hot, so I unbutton the front and push up the hood to cool off. Some people recognize me, and they give me a he's just being wacky again look. They know that I am Jewish.

I catch a glimpse myself in a window when the robe is undone. I am wearing black clothing under the white sheets, and I think the effect looks pretty snappy. Then I button up the robe and pull down the hood, and walk around some more.

I leave the city streets, and find myself on a wooded, hilly backcountry road, something like a suburb of Philadelphia. I am still in the Klan outfit. A couple of little kids bike by, and are fascinated...they've never seen a 'real' live KKK member before. One of them says to the other in a low voice that before you can wear the sheets, you actually have to kill a black person. I want to tell them that they're wrong, all you have to do is hate them, but I don't.

The only dreams I ever have are probably born of frustration. They involve bullets that don't fit guns, punches that don't hurt, and all types of ever ineffectual violence. I'm not a violent man, but should I be? I rarely dream of sex anymore. That night (the 30th) I slept on a friends couch in Ohio. I'm from Michigan. I dreamed that I had to kill a man, but the wide variety of bullets I had were all the wrong size for the gun. I must be very angry about something, but I have no idea what.

I am in a tourist trap store somewhere in nowhere land. It's probably some coastal town where all the slimy little vendors shuffle in and show off their shitty wares.

I'm with my step-brother, and he is with his girlfriend. I walk up to him, and he gives me this very wierd look. I realize I'm not wearing pants. I'm completely naked under my shirt. He tells me to grab the following items before we swim, which is assumed that we are about to do that:

  • 30 Pack Miller
  • Chips
  • Wallet
  • Swimming Trunks, quickly, please!!

    Well, I am walking around, and I buy some shitty Nike shorts, and go to change. When I come back, all the vendors have left, leaving their stuff behind. There are no customers, but I can see my step-brother and his girlfriend outside across the street. I look over, and spy something.

    Tommy Hilfiger Trunks...

    I grab them, try them on, then I wake up, pissed and tired. I never got to swim, damnit.
  • Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.