I'm at a party with a group of friends with whom I'm moderately well acquainted. Specifically, I'm standing in this room with about five other kids in a rough circle. The number of people in the room/ at the party isn't clearly defined, but I do know for certain of one guy (we'll call him Matt Bantz) who isn't in the room but is definitely elsewhere in the house.
The people in the room are talking pejoratively about a certain other guy at the party, without mentioning him specifically by name. Since they don't refer to him by name, I assume, by deduction, that they're talking about this Matt Bantz. Now, I don't necessarily agree with their insults but I say nothing to the contrary, not wanting to start an argument, I suppose.
Suddenly, one of these people in the room turns to face me, directly, and says, "What do you think, Bantz?"
Confused at having been called by this name, I turn to face a full- length mirror not far from me against a wall... and I'm Matt Bantz!
I wake up in a cold sweat.

I apologize to those who find my tone to be detached. It is the only way I can be this honest about a dream I found troubling, unsettling, and confusing. Please do not read this dream log if you do not want to feel as I do.


Today, I awoke after six hours of sleep, before my alarm rang; Usually I oversleep and am awoken by the alarm.

I suspect that I had dreams prior to the one I am about to describe, but I cannot remember them.

To put the references in my dream into context:

  • I have not thought about Her recently.
  • I had yet another standoff with my mother about a lifestyle choice of mine. She cannot treat the situation without shouting and tears.
  • I spent some time playing with my video camera, as I am considering taping my face and auditioning for the Real World/Road Rules.
  • I read several Biblical translations of the Jacob's Ladder story.

place: a space with several rooms. the main room has positive energy: it has a long shape with high ceilings. the main room has northern exposure, which is to say that I imagined it as the "top" by orientation. the northern side is one of the two long sides and has large, sunny windows, and the northern corners are soft (oblique).

the whole space is neither familiar nor unfamiliar.

the time is: light out.

i am involved in a orchestra/band composed of members of a club of which I and She were a part. We are all facing away from the windows and I am in the back row, in the middle. She is to my right, playing Her cello. The Next Man is to her right, playing drums. I am dancing, but I question whether I am dancing well. there is no audience.

the performance/rehearsal is done and there is a mass exodus to the exit. I trail the group and nearly everyone has left.

I am in the most south-westerly room, a cramped square room with high ceilings and a small freight elevator on the south side. everyone has left through this elevator and She and the Next Man are waiting for it.

[The Next Man is a conceptual inspecific whose form is nonetheless totally immediate.]

I smite the Next Man and the Next Man is no longer a presence in my dream. She turns to fight Me.

I cut Her with razors. She is unable to fight Me back because I have attacked Her successfully. but I could not defeat Her and She remains.

She: [emotionessly but earnestly] "why are you doing this?"

I: "this is how You desired and designed your fate; to be rent by the blade of Your lover."

at this point I realize that She is a ghost.

Our dialogue remains a constant for the rest of the dream. I occasionally attack Her with sharp objects to prevent Her from attacking Me.

I: "did you love A--?"

She: "no, I just had to leave You."

I: "do You love the Next Man?"

She: "You are the 100% perfect boy for me."

I ask her if I can tape record the conversation we have, so I can listen to it later. She consents. We retire to the main room.

the sun is down and the time is dusk. the main room now is perfectly rectangular and has no more windows. the energy is now negative. the compass orientation is unchanged.

We sit in front of the television, which is in the middle of the north side, and I press record on the vcr. before We say any words, We stand up and continue our conversation as We leave the room (and the range of recording).

as We walk from room to room, doing a tour of the space, We keep struggling to grab sharp objects. all the sharp objects are either sharp but very small (like a razor) or large but blunt (like a dull rod).

I: "why don't You find a large sharp knife to kill me?"

but I cannot find one either. so I must perpetually attack Her to prevent Her from attacking Me.

as We walk through the rooms, discuss and fight, I notice a few nameless characters in the background. they make Me feel observed and remove the sense of privacy, but their presence only affects how I feel about the situation, not how I choose to act.

I push Her backwards and She falls and is temporarily disabled. I decide to take Her by force. I lift up Her robe to find that Her body has grown old and lax and her pubic hair has gone gray. [I did not realize until I awoke that the lower region of her body was not a visual representation of Her, but my mother.] I become repulsed and have a mixed feeling of self-disgust and ennui and I decide not to rape Her.

We keep moving in and out of rooms fighting and yet calmly talking about Our relationship and never about the fighting.

by this point, Her sympathetic tone and concilliatory words are making Me cry and My face is distorted in anguish.

I decide that there are two questions, primary above all else, that I want to ask of her. I want to ask her about Our future. [I cannot remember the precise wording (and I suspect that none exists in human language) but the question tersely, unambiguously, and all-encompassingly combines: "Are you being honest with me so far?" and "Will our hearts be reunited?" Remember, this is a dream, and the imaginary can immediately bypass the symbolic domain, which includes language.] I also want to ask Her about the nature of the afterlife.

I sit down with Her in front of the tv so that I can ask Her the questions and have the answer recorded, in case I do not hear her or cannot understand. I try to choose some good music on the playlist, but I cannot find the right song.

I realize that wasting time to choose the music was a grave mistake.

I could not say any more to Her.


Usually, my sleep is fitful and I outlast my alarm by five or six snooze clicks, as well as sometimes further two hours of oversleep past. The repeated interruption of deep sleep with occasional spurts of reality is the usual cause for my dreams that seem lucid, dreams that spiral out of control while clutching me tight. (Imagine the feeling of being pulled out of The Matrix several times a night.) And I feel groggy and sluggish all day, qualities that make consensual reality seem like waking sleep and dreams like truth.

But today I slept soundly and awoke decisively, feeling rested and with no need for further sleep. As indicated, this is atypical for a dream so gripping and real that I spent the next several hours disentangling the coils of my personal and familiar narrative from a very foreign and unreal seeming consensual reality.


In the description of my dream, I have tried to leave the "writing" to my dream and have included only details and specificity that stood out in my dream. I have not, except when indicated, done any post-dream interpretation or analysis.

The dream forces me to ask a question which is quite poignantly (and tacitly) posed by Stanley Kubrick in the scene with Nicole Kidman's dream in Eyes Wide Shut: How much of our conscious perception of our dreams is written post-dream by the consciousness? For example, how do we know that a dream sensation that we later consciously remember as shameful and terrible, that this dream sensation was not experienced as pleasurable when we were dreaming, even if it appears that we make no conscious choice to repress the original emotion and revise our memory?

Insofar as I do remember the experience of my dream, it seemed that everything that seemed "real" to me in the dream and without abstraction actually was immediate. And I remember the immediate emotion the dream inspired me to have throughout the dream: a bitter knot of dread-filled anticipation and sehnsucht.

When we remember our dreams, is our memory of the experience defined by and indistinguishable from the symbolic significance we impose onto it, even though our memory of the experience appears to us to be immediate and separable from conscious interpretation?

These questions about dreaming in general aside, the most pressing question immediate to my dream is:

Can I trust the ghost? What does one believe when one is presented with the words of the ghost of a living person, a contradiction?

Tonight was rather cold, as I had not decided to turn on the heater until it was late. Fell asleep shortly after watching the Late Show.


Cue wavy dream sequence.

It all started with me walking home. Strange how my house had moved between a 1600's whore house and a brewery. The brewery was an old style one, filled with old style drunks.

Halfway to home, I saw Thomas on the other side of the road. He was waving his sexy ass my way. So, staring but trying desperately not to appear as if I was, I followed. Keeping my eyes on him I had not noticed the lights for the pedestrian crossing turn green, so when I did see it was green, I ran.

As soon as I tried to cross the street the light turn red. Engines revved. I turned towards them. Cars were almost on top of me. As always happens in these kind of situations in dreams, I started to move in slow motion. The kind of slow motion you only get when moving through jell-o (tm).

My speed was insufficient. I fell into the foetal position and was crushed by the cars.

I woke up yawning.


Is this some metaphor for my life? Am I caught up in a struggle between the choice of whores or alcohol? Why can't I ever have both? Why did I give jell-o a trademark?

I usually have dreams, but only in the waking hours between the time I'm supposed to be up and the time I actually get up. Lucid dreams, always. So real you can almost touch them, and some so close that you can't. The few stolen moments after your alarm clock goes off, but you decide against better judgement to just shut those peepers -- "just one more minute, I need one more minute of sleep to start my day just one more--just one--just-- zzzzz

This dream was of the same nature. Sometimes I awake from them with a numbness, a fear, a sort of angst about the reality that has just been destroyed -- in my head. The person I fell in love with for a night, and the long lost love that is literally, only in my dreams. Lucid dreams can be confusing, because you aren't always sure what's going on. Places might seem backwards, or faces might not make sense. The brain recreates things, but on it's own terms.

I never eat a taco bell. But there I was, right in the middle of it all. What I ordered was trivial, what I was thinking or feeling was trivial, but I had this one big question on the tip of my tongue. There was a most beautiful girl at the counter, and I wanted to ask her something. I wanted her to ask someone something, but I'm not quite sure what it was. She told me that she didn't usually ask this question, that I was asking her to ask, but that employees usually take it into consideration on a case-to-case basis -- That if the person asking were cute enough then it would happen. I asked her if she thought I was cute. And, I don't know why it seemed so shocking, or why it evoked the feelings that it did, but I was really impressed when she said yes. Back to the confused faces, I thought I had never met this person before... I thought I had never spoken with them, in my dream it was only a stranger. She said, "

The phone rings and it's my sister. She's recovered her stolen bike, some jackass stole it a few weeks back and they recovered it in a pawnshop. Fuck. It's now 7:55, five minutes before my first class. The image of this person is now lost because the abrupt awakening
All morning long, I tried to think of that person, the person that I started to dream about. Thinking about it some more, and retracing thoughts, thinking back... and, it’s someone I know. It's someone that I hold very dear to me. It's... you.
Two dreams, one right after the other:

One: I was at my living room, watching TV with my wife. It was a cartoon of The Hulk, and he was having a big fight with a supervillain in the middle of the city, as Marvel Super Heroes often do. The drawing looks like that The Avengers spoof Cartoon Network runs as a companion feature to Dexter's Laboratory, but it isn't supposed to be a spoof, it's the proper Marvel Comics character.

Wife asks, "Doesn't the Hulk ever kill anybody?" I answer, "No, he doesn't, not even by accident. The writers won't allow it." As if just to contradict me, the Hulk throws a car at the villain. He misses the villain, but it turns out there were six people in the car, and they look suspiciously like Powerpuff Girls extras. We see six little winged ghosts going up, with sound of harps.

The Hulk seems as shocked as we are. He gets really angry, jumps at the villain adn starts beating the living daylights out of him. Now they are fighting on a cargo train. This segment of the dream is aborted.

Two: I have to do (again!) a network consulting job. This time I have to install a Unisys tape drive (do they make or sell tape drives? I suppose so, they sell servers) at a customer. I earn the grand total of R$ 0.60 for the job -- yes, that's 20 cents of a dollar! And I don't complain!

The equipmant is big, if looks like something out of a sixties computer. I carry it along the street with some difficulty, but the customer's offices are not too far away. However, I wake up before I get there. Maybe I could have completed the assignment if they paid more.

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