31-12-15 Meta-adventures. Quite earnestly at one point, I recall saying to myself, “Gee, I hope I don’t get bad dreams from all this.” A merry time was had, in fact. First, I was a transient inhabitant among other transient inhabitants of a dense-jungle campsite, and they seemed to be accosting me. I think I then managed to walk entirely beyond the jungle to an exaggeration of a pedestrians-only lane, where the projecting edges of tiny apartments into it literally made me have to zig-zag, albeit excitedly, as I walked along. Many seemingly familiar people sat on their front steps, their knees often touching each other’s across the lane, and having stepped over several pairs, I found myself curled comfortably on the cobblestones, getting kissed on the cheek.
Further exposition:
30-12-15 This particular flight to Fort Yukon saw a major elevation increase as we/I passed over intense fall colors. Upon arrival, a “primitive” existence was evident, in spite of 21st-century infrastructure like plastic and house design et cetera. Rather, it was simply as if electricity and petrol had ceased to be a part of everyday life, in spite of the fact that I seemed to be the only one around. Apparently I was some kind of fugitive looking for a child. I jumped furtively through a low window or two, searching, and finally came upon a trash can containing a chopped up polar bear pelt curled around rotting garbage.
Further exposition:
6-12-15 I 4-wheeled cautiously through a sunny birch forest. I also wandered into a high-school classroom setting in which a couple of students thanked me for helping them with homework, but the experience was cut short by a chaotic evacuation due to the appearance of vaguely hostile empty circus-clothing monsters, who deflated pathetically when they exited the building.
Further exposition:
4-12-15 Lucid dream? During another successful nap on the office couch, I did some serious wandering. First was a kind of pirouetting solo I performed throughout a Lego store, stopping at intervals to chat with the cashier or check out a product. I think I then drove with friends through parking lots and other vehicle-friendly places in what may have been a lower-48 shopping district. In the manner of a musical interlude, I then became intermittently, fuzzily perhaps, but nevertheless aware that I had two bodies. One was lying on the couch, of course, and the other was a well-muscled inhabitant of a television-static-rendered grey maybe of a place. I was afraid of becoming too aware of the former, because I was excited to be asleep, but in peeks and flashes while otherwise preoccupied with my dream-self’s lackluster thumb-through-palm self-check, I was aware, maybe only of the memory, of my real body and its occasional sensory inputs. Anyway, performing the miracle was secondary to my greater desire of continuing my dreaming, and fortunately the second sequence began soon thereafter. This consisted of me, possibly accompanied, looking for a doctor in the epitomally unique open two-story basement of a large squat building. Its matte-black-painted spaces, interrupted at odd intervals with neon duct tape of various hues and seeming to have been stolen from concept art for a skate park, were all sufficiently lit from their pipe-crossed ceiling strip lights, and up and down and between gentle staircases were offices and vague open places populated by doctors and their apparent classes of patients participating in some very bizarre therapy. True, they may not have been doctors or patients. Whatever the circumstances, and in one area at least, patients lay rigidly prone like giant grains of rice while somehow connected to laptop charging cords. Despite much walking, I did not find the doctor-person i apparently sought.
Further exposition:
13-11-15 I had a white-ass 70s-movie-remake of a dream. This circumstance, perhaps more than anything, makes me really want to analyze it to death to try to figure out why I had it in the first place. Anyway. In what seemed to the present, a 50-something and heavily-bundled me approached the front door of a similarly old white actor’s / male main character’s house, which opened onto a chilly ramshackle urban tunnel. (Throughout this dream, an uncertain duality existed as to whether I was an actor in a movie or an actor in a life about which a movie was being made.) Having apparently attracted his attention, I then appeared in a small shabby CFL-lit 70s-era-construction auditorium full of yet more heavily-bundled old white guys, and furnished on one wall with offerings of all-glass stationary lanterns, apparently in the hopes of making the old white actor / male main character appear on stage. His eventual acquiescence then conjured first-person scenes of the movie / his young life, and principally his young female love interest, who was hidden away, Capulet-style, behind the armored double door of another house opening onto a similarly ramshackle urban tunnel. We spent some time trying unsuccessfully to force the doors using a shotput ball. Then, following an uncertain interlude, I found myself positively appraising the young man in stereo with the tall young woman as we walked animatedly through a supermarket. Upon our finding of him, I realized that they both had red hair, and I seemed to say to myself, ”Ah yes, like should be with like.”
Further exposition:
9-11-15 What a beautifully ponderous forest.
1-11-15 A M was in the process of reconstructing the UAF Facilities Services greenhouse. True to form, as I ran with actual tears of joy across to her on the hilly large-panel temporary wood floor, the surrounding area was rendered in picturesque warm rolling hills of grass (apparently over the former sites of the Atkinson and CPHR power plants), and through the new and larger as-yet unwalled spaces there were no construction materials to be seen. This fact seemed to impart the impression that the greenhouse was being rebuilt very slowly, or by furtive flashmob/job/bers, installing one complete section at a time. I then began having what the dream told me was a nervous breakdown. Despite having warranted that title due to my uncontrollable tears of joy, it was much more as if I had a tenacious cold and resultant soggy feelings and fatigue, for my perceived enjoyment of the greenhouse, the beautiful day, A’s company, and being upright in general deteriorated rapidly thereafter as we stood on a kind of parapet of the greenhouse under now-cloudy skies eating red-sauced spaghetti that was growing out of cardboard planters.
Continuing the theme of feeling tired and otherwise incapacitated while dreaming, I then shifted scenes to playing Oblivion at dad’s, which I accomplished only the short amount of time it took for me to apparently see more details and content than the game wanted me to see, for it crashed soon thereafter. Trying then to capitalize on either a brief moment of lucidity or a well-rehearsed memory, I attempted H’s lucidity check (trying to make the fingers of one hand pass through the palm of the other) and [rec: passed] failed, much to my surprise.
Still feeling out of it, dad and me went to McDonald's. I stayed behind in the entry room while he ordered us/me chili, fries, and a milkshake. “The freaking end”.
Further exposition:
30-10-15 I and me were wandering through a starkly empty West Valley band room, in one of whose back hall rooms I was apparently living (it being the only room with contents). I ended up settling into/onto an odd exposed deep-seated toilet newly installed at the office end of the bass lockers, and as I sat confidently and awkwardly with my pants down, a familiar-looking young woman looked laughingly through the somehow-open door at me, then shut it.
Further exposition:
27-10-15 Quite the triptych. On panel one, there was a confused exchange going on between a fantasy world and a hopelessly un-fantastic supermarket. In the fantasy world, a battle was apparently about to take place, and in order to free a wizard from prison to help fight the battle, I needed a bucket of olives from the non-fantasy world. I think I learned all this information from a lackluster individual somewhere in a dark back room of the supermarket, but having presented them with my bucket of olives, I learned that not just any bucket would do: I apparently had to trade him a bucket of potato salad for his bucket of olives. End of act one, thank goodness.
Act two took place in a Japanese elementary school classroom, and I was hunting for an escaped power-mad AI currently possessing a small slide-phone. It had gained some limited powers of locomotion in its quest for more processing power, and it skittered across the floor and under desks as I attracted the laughter of the young students crawling around distractedly after it. I think I was trying to teach it moderation. Anyway, I finally caught it.
Panel three showed a healthy amount of exercise: myself and others playing some kind of ball-oriented competitive sport underwater in a huge pool. Every time I got the ball into the opposing team’s end zone, the water seemed to become a little more clear and the ball changed its pattern or color. Apparently I was at asset to my team, in spite of having accidentally scored a point in my own goal out of ignorance of the rules at one point, and I moved through the water easily and quickly.
Further exposition:
16-10-15 In the first 7-hour dose of slumber, mom and me and the kitchen were host to Mrs. H, who was apparently giving me some kind of advice based on several neatly handwritten lists I had given her. As she spoke, I watched several elderly white folks climb into a waiting 9-meter-tall purple Ford in the street outside.
In the second 1.5-hour dose, I W and a few uncertain others and me were privileged prisoners of a massive subterranean complex-worth of low-g-adapted bluish-skinned humanoids. We lazily explained ourselves when they passed us by in the aircraft-carrier-scale bottom-level equipment staging area as we watched I drop small remote-detonation charges into 55-gallon barrels of a green liquid explosive. Shortly before our implied and incendiary escape, we were witness to a holographic projection of a simple schematic of the complex which rapidly out-zoomed to a similarly simplified view of the globe, revealing our location a few tens of kliks beneath India.
Further exposition:
15-10-15 P M and me were in a sunny open-air rooftop apartment when we discovered that we were being observed by occupants of the lower apartments via vent-like periscopic windows arranged in a cluster in the middle of the roof. We/I then seemed to jump from periscope to periscope, descending the building and meeting a few people (possibly including the pleasant D N, whose room was stacked high with white 8 x 11 papers needing attention), before finally arriving at the ground floor, which happened to adjoin the Davis Concert Hall. At that point I noticed that I was in mismatched and unnecessary concert dress, and as people began to enter the hall, I found a familiar face and handed my sheet music back. Having found a seat in one of the central entry rooms, I then watched the people as they arrived, seemingly waiting for I W, who eventually appeared, grinning broadly, wearing a bright green t-shirt and a heavily decorated pair of sunglasses.
Further exposition:
12-10-15 Infection nightmare.
11-10-15 Through the former portion of an adjoined high school and college, I was wandering, feeling decidedly older than the students as I watched them covertly rearrange potted plants in a common area. The scene then transitioned to a multi-level grocery store, with its now-familiar hilly brown-tiled floor, and having made my way to the exit, I got a hug from behind from M S, to which I naturally rejoined, ”I'll friend you on Facebook”. It soon became apparent that I was to be meeting dad and going to an airport on the fourth floor of a five story building, and we calmly appreciated the dual airport/greenhouse function of the fourth floor as we waited for the people disembarking.
Further exposition:
?-10-15 [audio transcript] Dad, terraforming computer game. Me, anti-terraforming, ancient archaeological project, evil magic, forest, polite. [yawn] Heading toward the poles, two young people, police investigation.
Further exposition: talk about question marks. No memory of this whatsoever.
?-10-15 Under estival skies, I was moving up a cement piping housing to a second floor window of a (high?) school building toward a professor who was, matter-of-factly, a bear. Apparently deciding to skip the mystery of the bear, I stepped through the window and into the first day of school. Sitting in a common area inside was an unrecognizable friend who began showing me “cool things” from his summer including small pink bladder-like bag of LSD, to which I responded, “like, "shhh"". Shifting scenes to a college setting, I was embroiled in a film class’ horror film project and interviewing people about the topics they had chosen. I ended up finding a person who had done their project on Gigantoraptors.
Further exposition:
27-9-15 Other Medicare beneficiaries and me had had a meeting in the second-floor meeting/multipurpose room of a private residence that had been recently converted into a hospital, and having all been told that the next part of the meeting was only for people ages 65 or older, I produced a histrionic quarter-strength hissy fit (to the effect of “Don’t they know I might as well be 65?!”) and flounced downstairs. The hospital, it seemed, was one of innumerable business-studs to the chain of a winding airstrip-scale mall. I wandered down it, seeming to have many adventures and meeting many familiar people along the way, and also having Thai-style noodles twice at a restaurant in which floor cushions and crossed legs were the only form of seating. At one point I found myself scooting down the hall on a self-propelled exercise ball, to the surprised attention of myself and others, but a later earnest attempt to do the same with a sequoia-burl-shaped glass tabletop yielded no results. Shame.
Further exposition:
21-9-15 Mom and me were traveling on what was apparently my spaceship-house when we were forcibly joined by a malevolent humanoid, with whom I seemed to have some experience (leading me to believe this might be a recurring dream). They first appeared, falling out of the shower head into the drain, as a “seed” in the shape of a small screw emitting a strong blue light. Later, after its rapid growth, we sat in a common area sharing a tense meal and watching clouds and blue sky pass by through an observation bubble, apparently in an uncertain attempt to oust the interloper. My black long-john-clad legs stuck out the other side of the narrow table on which the stranger was sitting, and with an odd chattering voice they scooted down and gave me a shallow cut on my left knee. Suspecting poison, I immediately felt weak and fearful.
Further exposition:
20-9-15 I was apparently driving some hobbit friends to the seaside so they could go to the Grey Havens. As we passed saltwater reeds and shoregrass on our approach to the sea, I looked to my right (must have been a right-hand drive because i wasn’t looking across anybody) and saw what looked like the sun shining through heavy fog across a campus’ rooftops. I suddenly thereafter realized that they were the rooftops of a reconfigured UAA, and inside was an interplanetary train station, via wormhole, by which my hobbit friends could get to their Grey Havens. Inside, I apparently needed to make an appointment with a travel agent, and in waiting to do so I apparently interrupted the quietus of one, who responded witheringly “Are you [so-and-so]? No.”, and chivvied me back into a waiting room. Post-saga, after hours in a side room of the train station, I was being held securely in the arms of what seemed to be a muscular 3-meter-tall woman, and we conversed at length.
Further exposition:
19-9-15 Yet another dream involving H. She sat at a counter working on a CRT-screened desktop computer, either avoiding my gaze or deeply focused, in a cable-bedecked corner of a musical instrument and accessory store that seemed to go on forever. I eventually made my way out, discovering that I was on an upper floor of a university’s commons building.
Further exposition:
14-9-15 Aside from a whole constellation of figments lost in the snooze-sit-up gap, I beheld something like a chef’s shelving table on wheels, on the bottom shelf of which was a large clear-plastic tub of a fictitious vegetable. Swiss-chard-pink and sliced lengthwise, it had the look of a celery-onion hybrid. Most interestingly, its spelling flashed across its image just as I drifted into wakefulness: kukei.
Further exposition:
5-9-15 I was wandering through what might have been an urban war zone, through and between buildings in various states, and finding short broad-bottomed wicker baskets of food: rolls, oiled flatbreads, root vegetables, and other wholesomes. Considering I might be in a war zone, and that I’m fairly phobic of food waste, I felt some insecurity about sharing all this bounty I’d found, but eventually came to my senses and decided I would, if I came across anyone to share it with.
Further exposition:
1-9-15 Time travel was once again involved, this instance seeming to involve a pleasant outcome from travel to and from the future, doubly contrary to the previous instance. The details may have been associated heavy-handedly, however: my pattern-seeking brain is desperate to make meaning and association between its otherwise unassociated rovings of memory. Aboard an abandoned cruise-ship-scale multi-story seal-hunting seastead of sturdy but rickety-seeming pre-20th-century construction, apparently adrift with the icebergs in sunny polar waters, I may have been in the process of appraising the seastead for future refurbishment/renovation/modernization. I recall taking a bite from the shattered frozen carcass of a salmon that was sticking out of a pile of ice and snow while on the phone with dad, during which I may have had my sojourn to the future. That sequence consisted of a few scenes of 5-6 m3 rooms and their several smaller satellites clad in freshly hung sheetrock, awaiting plaster. One salient scene was of myself, suddenly, becoming aware that I actually had a 3-d butt, and saying, “Damn, self: nice ass”. I then shared a friendly conspiratorial low-five with a fellow seasteader whom I passed walking in the opposite direction.
Further exposition:
26-8-15 Great: a dream featuring saved reloadable life-snapshots as a major thematic element. Considering it treated largely of me sneaking into tall buildings and committing thefts for an uncertain final goal, my ability to learn and reload from my mistakes was doubtless a boon. The reloading “screen” looked like thin squares of age-curled leather, scribbled upon in broad cryptic strokes, tacked unevenly to a piece of wood.
Further exposition:
12-8-15 Abuse of time-travel privileges, no bueno. J and me were sharing a small studio apartment in a large building, and having concluded something like sharing tea, I returned to the present after having made a brief trip to the past and discovered to my dismay that we no longer lived where we had formerly, and that my actions, however slight in the past, had brought this about. I wandered to no avail.
Further exposition:
10-8-15 At the periphery of a multilevel 15,000-seat stadium, I was part of a vague “us-versus-them” consisting of two teams, and frantically trying to usher a pistol-wielding D into a safe hallway at the approach of a member of the opposing “team". She couldn't quite get through the walls, but as I sat doing something urgent in a room, I saw her bared teeth snapping at me through the cement, until she materialized in the doorway, speaking in a dangerously placating voice.
I was then in the West Valley band room, as a student or a guest conductor I was unsure, enjoying a pre-rehearsal party sitting on the floor with my back against an amplifier between H and a friend of hers, feeling very safe. She threw an arm around my shoulders as we watched the room, and after a time, I realized that my fingers were very cold, and that they had been sitting on someone's shoulder, for which I hastily apologized.
A brief third scene showed a dorm room, unfurnished and dimly lit, with at least two doors connecting it directly to other rooms. I peered up a ladder to a second story after pausing to admire my overstuffed red backpack.
Further exposition:
2-8-15 My mom and D and me took an airbus somewhere, and the cheaply unattractive interior was furnished with several in-use dining tables. D became drawn into an intense conversation with someone on whom my eyes somehow wouldn’t focus, and after some time I asked of my mom who the stranger was. She said they were a South African police officer. Cool.
Further exposition:
1-8-15 A younger version of myself and someone else were watching a darkly-clothed British-accented individual dispel something vaguely evil on a cookie sheet by first covering it in a slab of brownie and then covering the brownie in cheese, counting from 1 to 6 as they did so.
Further exposition:
18-7-15 Are there museum-hotels? I may have invented one. Inside a much larger building that was about as wide as it was tall (2 km) was, in its incongruous entirety, a three-story cheaply-constructed 1950s-style hotel consisting of three stacked hallways. Off of these hallways were rooms only slightly larger than closets, and each was crammed with a unique assortment of the yarn and porcelain trappings of an unconstructively stereotypical “knick-knack-hoarding grandmother”, leaving just enough room for an undersized bed and half a square meter of foot and luggage space. I crept down the darkened hallway, peering into rooms, since they had no doors.
Further exposition:
12-7-15 Earth’s moon was being terraformed, and I lived in a habitat sphere suspended from the inside of a partially-inhabitable ring that girded it by 200 or so kilometers. Every night I would have to catch a transport to take me out to my jolly little house where I could observe the ongoing forestation process.
Further exposition:
?-7-15 I may have had a dream that I was stoned. Anyway.
24-6-15 I was witness to multiple successive car crashes in which the drivers intentionally drove through the glass front of a cement three-story building and into a waiting pit on the ground floor. The occupants of the final vehicle were an oddly Blues Brothers-lookalike duo, and as they rather drunkenly emerged from the wreck of their ride, they pointed mossy topsoil-laden shovels at each other, speaking incoherently.
Also, mild nightmare.
Further exposition:
16-6-15 I had a pseudo-fight in a submerged and gently rotating quintessentially suburban 2-story house with an unknown pseudo-enemy. The body of water, and its container, looked somehow like the giant pools used by filmmakers for underwater scenes, and at various points in our rotation I saw large soft blue lights set into the white wall outside. My would-be assailant and me stopped to rest at one point and lay quite unhesitatingly on the carpeted floor, discussing the semantics of some fine point we had apparently brought up earlier.
Further exposition:
6-7-15 While a master of ceremonies at a large vertical convention center formally introduced an upright-piano-pushing M R and ushered him toward the oblong-spiral stage, I did the same as I ran ahead of him. There was much applause before the convention center turned seamlessly into a soft-drink packaging factory.
Further exposition:
7-6-15 In unlit and seemingly endless utility/unfinished areas, with much in the way of stylishly exposed piping, uncertain others and I may have been evading zombies. Then, in a dimly-lit slant-floored wood-paneled building in what may have been a lavish pre-fall Rapture apartment, I was supposed to be solving a vaguely magic-related puzzle, the solution being, apparently, to correctly rearrange meter-tall glass-bound scented candles found in rooms orbiting the square hall. Simultaneously, an out-freak from painted-looking caricatured people was underway, involving, in at least one instance, a door being closed as I was about to move through it with my heavy meter-tall glass-bound scented candle. An elevator may have been involved. Next, among mountainous terrain, I was running uphill past much busily running water and a few isolated farm buildings. With dad in confederation soon thereafter, we ended up perched on downed birch trees above a precipitous ravine hard by the end of a stream and being quite randomly presented with a plastic tote of blueberries, which was then rapidly filled by persons unknown. Somehow, it was partially overturned into the stream, and as dad fought it back to a level, a forest nymph appeared on another downed birch in front of us and inspected us critically. The last dream was stupid, but it happened. Through an old-video-quality lens, I and perhaps others were witness to an uncertain disaster by abuse of telekinetic abilities, possibly involving the escape of imprisoned nazis. I then spearheaded a not-so-stealthy infiltration of a few enemy spaces, culminating in the rescue of a fellow agent and an abrupt exeunt out a barred window to a moonlit ocean and waiting submersible SUV. We had a mild collision with a boulder as we drove across the bottom of a bay.
Further exposition:
5-6-15 In the middle of an unabashedly capitalist American shopping mall, sometime during the Christmas season (not to be confused with the holiday or winter seasons), I was literally digging in my heels as D pushed me past a long a dining table, covered in, of course, the American cuisine I despise, and which I was supposed to submit to the experience of. Having arrived at a little empty space of floor at one end of the table, I was made to explain my dispreference in finest subadult guilty-until-proven-innocent, but self-empoweringly successful, style. Change of scene.
I was a mentor-participant-observer at a music academy somewhere, and I recall spending quite a bit of time just sitting on the blue mats covering a gymnasium floor, watching the extended percussion section as it handled several sets of mounted spheroid bells.
Further exposition:
4-6-15 Having applied some Portuguese foot salve, I read the warranty document. The end.
31-5-15 Having gotten there by no less than supernatural means, I stood at the edge of a smallish wood-walled room beside a smashed-up four-poster bed with brand-new bedsheets (occupancy uncertain), lit by opposing old glass windows, one opaque. A rough wooden tool box was open as I approached a door out of the room, and I may have picked up a heavy metal bar and thrown it. I went through the second room and down a couple of wooden steps to a rather ancient yellow-brick dock overlooking an impossibly calm body of water, which seemed to extend upwards to the horizon. As I stood looking, a sad-looking fish swam past me under the dock, and thereafter I saw a bunch of zimboes walking past each other on another dock away off to my left.
Further exposition:
29-5-15 T and I were watching a fantasy-horror film as we lay together on the floor of a reconfigured Farmor and Farfar house late one night.
Further exposition:
28-5-15 I was a local in a brightly-sunlit arctic village, or at least a very snowy village, situated as it was at the top of a bare hill with lower hilly landscape stretching in all directions to the horizon. Perhaps in the style of early Russian occupation of Alaska, except with a much greater technological disparity (and the vague but nevertheless present use of magic by the natives), there was a military outpost at the edge of the village consisting of a small white shack with antennae on top. A meeting was called inside, and perhaps because I was the friend of one of the soldiers, J, or for some other reason, I was invited to listen in. Quite as brightly-lit as the surrounding countryside, somehow, we sat listening to someone speaking on the other end of the cramped room, she sitting on my knees, I sitting on a cheap camp chair. Having failed to derive any meaning from the speaker, I likely interrupted them in the process of reminding J of something, and she geared up with the rest of them and departed soon thereafter. I have the vague idea that the shack was actually a pocket universe. Anyway.
Then, in an oddly-colored hall-alley area whose walls were covered in either graffiti or bioluminescent plantlife, and behind each of whose doors was a different landscape, I was apparently searching for something.
Further exposition:
24-5-15 On a slightly tapered 1.5 m tall snow pile in the Fred Meyer's West parking lot, middle of winter, I crawled uncertainly with two bundled young children as we attempted to avoid the casual bites of a nevertheless persistent moose. I thought that perhaps I should get off the snow pile and interact with the moose some other way, but my dad picked me up and drove me literally into the arctic entryway of the building before I could do so. He gave me a hug before departing as I sobbed wretchedly at the disappearance of the moose, then I wandered into the store in search of a particular action movie. Having found it, I discovered that I was apparently in it.
Further exposition:
23-5-15 I think I ended up wandering through Denmark with dad to Germany, then meeting mom to go in search of a friend of hers after doing a bit more wandering. I recall being grateful that dad knew Danish after hearing an American attempting to mansplain himself while sitting at a bar in a rather massive shopping center.
Further exposition:
18-5-15 I was in a natural stone prison consisting of a small section of canyon revealing bright blue sky above it. After wandering across it, I was pursued briefly by its unreasonably irate wardens. I then changed scenes to a very popular ski resort, somewhere, and spent my first few moments watching a strange new form of winter recreation: ice cleated bicycle-pogosticking. With an appearance much like a ski bicycle, save for the giant double half-circle spike on the bottom of each ski, people were using them to jump between giant hillocks of ice. I then ended up inside a rather cozy gift shop and speaking in an authoritative British accent to several jacket-clad tourists about why there were only miniature metal models for sale. Having wandered outside, I ended up standing next to K as she sat at the edge of an outdoor ice amphitheater full of other jacketed individuals, and we then sang “Black Sheep” by Gin Wigmore, apparently to little fuss.
Further exposition:
?-5-15 Apparently my academic fixation just won't quit. I ended up wandering through a mildly reconfigured grey-summer-morning-lit Pearl Creek, until I found the room in which two black cats were drowsily sitting. I crossed the room and stepped down into the gravel trench at the far end of it, reaching over the edge to scratch them.
Further exposition:
?-5-15 I rather randomly wandered into a carpeted choir rehearsal room and proceeded to read gibberish out of books made of floppy purple rubber with the few other people there present. I recall bringing attention to the gibberish at one point, but the person with whom I shared a floppy purple rubber book said that that was the point. So.
Further exposition:
30-4-15 Note to self: you are not actually tired of having dreams, but perhaps simply tired of recording them.
Aside from a whole mess of other events, I was visiting a friend’s university (probably on some other planet), and they showed me all over the campus and nearby town via small personal aircraft. As seems to be the general theme, the buildings were colossal, a few of them ringed on their hill by what seemed to be rather superfluous light-rail or pedestrian infrastructure. Later that evening, in the entry level of the tallest building in a nearby town, I, a female member of a special forces team, was tasked with assisting in destroying hazardous materials during a flood that was about to hit. I recall spreading explosive paste in horizontal lines on a wall.
Further exposition:
29-4-15 Trying to swim in the ocean off the Italian coast is made rather difficult by the fact that one's body is seemingly feather-light, and I agreed as a soared over the tide pools of sun-tanned Italians through the clouded sunset. Indeed, I recall being rather annoyed about not being able to swim with them. Cutting scenes, several other white test subjects and me (doppelgängers?) were being interacted with on an airship by a curious electrically-charged segmented metal tentacle as we wandered around vaguely in our blue smocks. We also lay in something like an unlit swimming pool taking the place of the stage in a European-style opera house. On an airship.
Further exposition:
27-4-15 I was a villager boating three or 4 m off the surface of the ocean near a rocky cliff, and perhaps more than once dove over the side and sank a surprising distance through bright blue water that seemed to bloom green and purple shapes as I passed through it. Further details frustratingly absent.
Further exposition:
26-4-15 It occurs to me that I may be manually misassociating these memories by forcing them all to occur in the same building. In any case, it was a massive one, being approximately 1.5 km tall and in the shape of a rectangular prism. My goal of ascending through it had the feeling of a first-person shooter, except that I had no guns. They certainly would have had no effect on the two traps that I did encounter at various points: as I appeared into the areas that might have otherwise been called poorly-lit indoor loading docks, the walls began rapidly to close in on me, and for some reason I didn't try to run. On at least the second time, the walls formed a narrow stairwell leading upwards, which I took. Nearing the top of the building, I came upon a dual-purpose freezer-prison, in which, among a few other people, was my friend, a horse, and which discovery of their being there distressed me greatly, and I stood hugging their head for a while as we stood together on the wooden floor. Eventually I pressed on to the topmost floors, and found myself walking through dark ugly wooden rooms with roll-top desks and unattractive green desk lights. At the end of one of such long rooms, I found a/the warden of the place, an older white individual, and they were trying to solve the puzzle apparently embodied by a framed tapestry on the wall. It was discovered that the solution was in a small mechanical box on its back side.
Further exposition:
25-4-15 Note to self: speak memories of dreams aloud immediately upon waking for retention purposes. This one is suffering for my not having done so.
I have a strong sense that I spent only a maximum of half the time being biologically female, but unfortunately for the other sex, details of its occurrence are lacking: so far, all I can remember is taking yet another train through sunny German countryside with mom. As for being female, I went into a small friendly clinic to see my gynecologist, B B, and having put my ankles into the stirrups, she went on to talk about healthy eating and gluten-free bread, samples of which she handed me.
Further exposition: lol wtf
21-4-15 There was a rather unusual Bergman family dinner underway. The fact that we seemed to have already eaten perhaps made up for the fact that there was not quite enough light to see the rest of the room by, and we sat in rather tense conversation around farmor's kitchen table. Or at least, I sat in tense conversation with myself, because Uncle Hank was there, and seemed alive and well and engaged, and I was in a turmoil as to whether anyone else knew that he was dead, and felt that I should let everyone know, but was uncertain as to what end the information would be given, and how it would be received. Loosely connected to this were scenes of walking along a sunset-lit decidedly oddly configured Geist Road, whose sidewalk pavement rose blockily above eye level in many places, and which seemed to have no proper place for automobiles, perhaps just a dirt path. There may have been a sleeping/dead woman curled on one of the ground-level pavement slabs.
Further exposition:
13-4-15 I was witness to a kind of crab-pathogen which attached itself to the lower back and looked not unlike corset bindings. Cool story bro.
9-4-15 It was a weird one. And I miss it. That’s all I know.
8-4-15 During one of several times that I was asleep during the night, these things happened. Pedaling a fatbike in a well-lit mid-winter evening, on the edge of a short snowy cliff, I approached the nearby top floor of a light-blue tower-like house belonging to M S, or at least his mom. (Good old dreams, providing information I never saw.) From the edge of the cliff to the top floor of the house extended a similarly-painted wooden tunnel large enough for me to crawl through, and without taking the bike through it, but still seeing bike tracks leading right up to its entrance, somehow, I crawled through to an impossibly spacious and well-constructed dining room at whose table auntie and the little ones sat. Apparently this was a good fairy tale, because all the little ones sat at their own place at the table and were feeding themselves. I entered the house at least twice, the entrances punctuated by scenes of a sustainable chain market. It was the sustainable chain market to end all sustainable chain markets. I wandered through an enormous one with a friend whose name I'm trying to remember, and marveled at all the novel brand names, clothing styles, box designs, paint schemes, and other facets of the sustainable-to-the-enth-degree store. At some point, my friend and me may have left the store to go to their massive apartment building (which in reality was a purgatory of endless poorly-lit hallways and connective staircases), but I can't remember for sure.
Further exposition:
3-4-15 Farmor was flying the two of us on an old plane to Fort Yukon on cold mid-wintry sunset-lit roads. We were apparently educators heading for a tall wooden building. There were toys in it, and I was in charge of packing.
Further exposition: Well.
1-4-15 An invasion of what looked like British India by flimsy spiky white aircraft was underway, and large purple radioactive bubbles fell from them as they flew overhead. Before running to whatever safety lay inside one of the larger buildings across the sunny grass, between the falling bubbles, I recall paying particular attention to one aircraft as it crashed into a tower nearby. Indoors, I received attention from the rather helpless medical staff whose morale was slipping due to the rest of the room being filled with dead and dying patients. In quite a different scene, I was witness to an indoor bazaar. I became embroiled with an insistent candy salesperson, and after standing talking for a period, I continued the conversation on a wooden chair that appeared quite naturally, somehow, in the walkway. After pressing on, I met several of my Youth Symphony friends, who in an open space on the wooden floor, began dancing, and I joined them merrily. There was at one point a metamorphosis to dancing on grass outdoors.
Further exposition:
25-3-15 Following that little adventure, I had some interesting times. Aside from quite a few details that I'm forgetting at this point, I seemed to be in a relationship with an intersex individual, and the space we shared for the time of my stay was lit only by moonlight, seeming to consist of two closely parallel hallways with rooms going off of them and a connecting heavily windowed sleeping area. Apparently my partner was abusive, but I fortunately don't remember that. I do remember some weirdness in poking through some of the darkened rooms, including a bucket of human fingers I was supposed to feed to something. Anyway.
There is a strong but vague sense of urgency accompanying the next details. Others had apparently been quite busy making me a snow bed in my dad’s driveway: it was more like a single snow shelf that I was supposed to sleep under. I was busy trying to get appropriately dressed for sleeping in there, since I recall it being quite cold. The last part of my attire was a pair of rusted iron bull horns.
Rounding out the evening was a fight in a health food store, in the style of “movie: martial artist who finds their enemies a laughing matter to dispatch". It was as if all the somehow-recognizable customers at the store turned into antagonistic versions of themselves, and being led by one of them, proceeded to attack me with various products. I knocked them all out by various and entertaining means.
Further Exposition:
17-3-15 Manfred Macx and I were making our way across rooftops in a rectangular 2-square-kilometer area surrounded by the much taller vertical city, and having arrived at the top of a wall on the far side and eaten a piece of buttered sourdough bread, it began to rain. Manfred then went on to defame the city policy of making its citizens pay for something which I forget. I was Annette, it seems.
Further exposition: Characters are from Charles Stross’ “Accelerando”.
15-3-15 For the sake of (reclaiming some) peace of mind, I’m going to assume this was a college setting. I’ve had enough dreams about high schools lately. Based on the size of its gymnasium, I would wager it was a rather small one. One large unit of bleachers had been moved into the center of the floor, and I sat upon it, interacting, to some uncertain end, with one of the green-text-only kind of computers. My sitting posture was made easier by the fact that the bleachers had been bent in half such that a view from behind showed a large letter M. There was a summer storm going on outside, and with an unreasonable sense of dread, I noticed three or four people approaching. Two of them were errand-runners, and one at least was a member of the staff: of course, there were there to collect me. Continuing with the theme of dread, I recall planning out various ways I could escape with my limited means as we walked slowly out of the gymnasium, then through corridors with which I seemed to be familiar. When we reached the last stretch of hallway before a set of doors to the outside, I thought for sure I would make it into the open air and away from the claustrophobic darkness of the hall. Oh the suspense. Instead I was instructed to shower in the bathrooms to our right.
Further exposition:
10-3-15 This time, for once, the building was not a high school: it was rather like a small well-funded laboratory in the middle of nowhere that had had additional rooms of uncertain function added onto it until it might have resembled a public school were it not frequented only by adults. At the time of my arrival, its dimly blue hallways were being slowly populated by musicians on their way to a rehearsal for which I was supposed to be a “recorder". This ended up translating into me typing uncertain commands into my laptop somewhere in the middle of the horn section. I told myself my job was over in spite of rehearsal not being concluded yet, and I wandered back through the dimly blue hallways; of course, in my long johns; and seated myself, under and between a few tattered pillows, on the seven or eight lazy steps leading down into one of the large room’s two or three narrow trenches. Anxiety for leaving rehearsal early set in as I sat working on my laptop until C R came by and said hello.
Further exposition:
8-3-15 Most or all of the textures were à la BioShock Infinite, without the intent to be eerie but certainly appearing so in hindsight. Aside from a few disconnected sunset-ish vistas prior, and likely a few details I’m unhappy to disremember, I found myself, as usual, in a color-reversed West Valley band room standing at attention, with the rest of the uncertain crew, to Dr. G. It was certainly a change from last time I was there. As she and E L discussed semantics attendant to the piece of music they had just been rehearsing, and apparently being there for little or no other reason, I stood between the blue-white luminously opaque window and the flute section appreciating the 20 extra feet of ceiling, wood paneling, three second-story balconies, and a glass-plate chandelier. I may have thereafter run further indeterminate errands within the school, but that may be pollution from a previous dream. In any case, I apparently emerged from the school to greet a dry spring day and the UAF campus undergoing evacuation. Fortunately there were no fires in any of the newly vertical and densely populated buildings to complete the picture of a Columbia ablaze, and as I walked through campus passing vehicles and people going in the opposite direction, my anxiety was wholly put to rest as I overheard B H ask of a police officer, "must we really evacuate?". It would seem that her work could not wait.
Further Exposition:
7-3-15 ?! where’d the memories go
5-3-15 In winter, I excitedly ushered a distractedly unsocial Mr. B into my dad’s house while his spouse-friend texted at the kitchen table and uncertain others milled in the hall and next to the freezer. Having gone back outside, and/or simply changed scenes, I was witness, again, to an early fall view of the house to the southwest being my dad's property, and hundreds of people moving between the two on new moss trails. I ended up standing on the back deck after watching the people come and go for a time, at which point E F called me and asked if I wanted to meet up, which was ironic as we soon discovered, due to having been in close enough proximity before the call, and as we realized during it, to shout across our intervening space. But first, apparently, I had to get stuck under the deck in the gallons and gallons of creamy peanut butter that were under there. She helped pull me out eventually, and my sweater was apparently none the worse for the exercise. We wandered over to the house next door and appraised its slight size, and the fact that its architecture seemed to flicker between that of my dad’s and something of dusty US-westward-territorial-expansion construction. We teleported into the impossibly large dark interior. Then a bluegrass band began a song which made mention of Doctors Without Borders.
Further exposition:
27-1-15 Whoosh! Within what I think was only a few minutes, these things happened.
A deep-space rescue mission was underway, in which multiple teams of rescuers were ferrying multiple pods of astronauts one at a time back to the “safety” of their group (both groups being of different humanoid species), despite seeming to have no craft to house them safely on. A view of one such rescuer returning to the group beheld a suitless fish-like gynoid smiling at them, first with her lips, then with frighteningly large shark teeth. After failing to change scenes, it soon became apparent that, although alarming, this part of the dream was simply supposed to be. Then there was a scene change.
Romeo and Juliet were small white and blue particles simultaneously spinning around each other and avoiding by goading a larger black particle which seemed bent on crushing them. They all shot at great speed through and across many facets of a concept-art-looking planet seemingly composed solely of black stone shaped into various rigid geometric configurations, some pillars of which, having holes through them, were used by our heroes to accelerate themselves across more terrain.
Over everything seemed to be a pop-psychology but still cinematically-gripping narration of the vaguely science-fiction-like atmosphere of the thing, occasionally represented visually by what seemed to be humanoid representations of Romeo and Juliet, they and the solid ocean they lay or stood upon all having the same sort of Shivering Isles concept art sort of look.
Further exposition:
22-1-15 Having never done so, my dream apparently thought I should sneak out of class for once, and so in a much larger and less vertical high school than my own, I, in my long-johns, snuck through the unusually dark hallways. In representative fashion, having hidden behind a staircase to avoid a teacher, I saw them emerge ponderously at the bottom in a Rosie the Riveter BioShock diving suit, complete with rivet gun.
Further exposition:
21-1-15 The OS had apparently relocated to the second floor of someone's house, still quite a big house, and at a table, I and I sat eating the very puffy rice cereal that had apparently been stuck to a ceramic pot while I relayed my latest dreams to her.
Further exposition:
x-1-15 I was back in Germany, this time apparently on my own, and enjoying myself wandering through crowds of people and taking public transit. I believe I ended up at a carnival.
x-1-15 This one seems to prove that if a fear response is triggered, what happens thereafter is irrelevant: it's going to be scary. Thus only my emotional memory serves to paint this in scary hues. Inside a tan 20m dome with part of its side cut away, which itself was inside another tan 60m dome, I faced various "horrors". I couldn't complain that there was no light, but its indirect source (which I never saw), and the antirefractory qualities of the dome, made the other entities in the dome with me quite indistinct until I was within a few meters, by which point I wanted to be on a different planet altogether. Finally, a long thick rusty-looking glass pipe came up through the middle of the floor. Something came out. I woke up.
Further exposition: Lucky me.
8-1-15 I was witness to what seemed like a streetlight-lit Alaskan village night scene consisting of graveled ground and a few half-pipe buildings. An old pickup truck drove dangerously past me and seemed simultaneously to break open and close behind itself the front of one of the half-pipe buildings. A few people had gathered round the entrance by the time I arrived and said something about drunkenness. There was a fire inside the building, and the driver startled me by appearing suddenly on the other side of the windowed door.
Then, in spite of what seems to be my retrospective apprehension, I was entering a very white-walled blue-floored laboratory by a back exit. I may have encountered this laboratory on a previous occasion while running through a partially destroyed vertical city. Hmm.
Further exposition:
7-1-15 In the exceptionally clean aftermath of an indoor concert, where the audience had apparently been standing in straw among wooden posting boards, I found my chicken flock browsing quite naturally. Their being there was apparently not worrisome, but for some reason I needed to enlist the help/services of some security personnel thereabout. One of them, sitting at a desk and speaking in a very soft voice, unlocked a door for me, behind which was a seven-foot-tall person of uncertain intent.
Further exposition:
6-1-15 Ah, so florid. The setting was rather like the stone-city equivalent of Coruscant: not quite inclusive of extraterrestrials, but certainly with a rich human diversity and massive scale, comprising, as it did, what seemed to be an entire heavily-carved mountain. Every example of Earth’s stonework seemed to be there represented, and walking through and among it gave the impression that suffocation by archaeophilia was imminent. Things started at a subterranean concert hall entrance. Sumptuous orchestral music was pouring out of its open blackness into a cobbled lane, bordered by quirky monkish-looking illustrations, that quickly curved over it toward the very sunny surface. A gang of very lightly-dressed people, who bronze-armored I and others apparently needed to chase, came running out as I stood watching, and they ran down the other end of the lane, into deeper parts of city. I ended up back on the surface, apparently unsuccessful, by the side of an austerely beautiful building with many occlusive windows. Returning to the concert hall entrance, it was apparently my and others’ turn to be chased, in our scant clothing, and most of us took the high road to the surface. This time, I was keenly aware that our pursuers had chain-whips, and whatever the significance of the hunt, I was determined to not get whipped. Be the fear as it may, however, it felt good to be moving, and at one point the group passed down a kind of cliff-street with floor-to-ceiling south-facing windows and paneled wood flooring, which were all rather nice. I ended up with a running partner for much of the chase, and after we had passed a pair of stern-looking armored women who were apparently done with the festivities, someone who was decidedly not so ran past us and threw someone out of a window.
Further exposition:
3-1-15 In an oddly formal cloister of what was apparently a high school (with gilt corrugated walls and very moody lighting), I was ushered into a smaller subsection thereof and told that I had not turned in my permission slip yet. “Permission slip for what?", I seemed to say: “I'm (older than) 17”. This apparently having no effect, I was told to wait in the larger room until my "turn". People came in and out as I waited, but nothing further occurred.
Further exposition:
1-1-15 Following that new year outing, I ended up playing a rather buggy version of Portal. A metal-bordered watery-looking portal was simply standing in the middle of a very high-ceilinged room, somber-jazzily lit, and my objective was manifestly unclear. Thinking upwards was a good direction, I tried to fire an orange portal at the ceiling high above me, but instead fired propulsion gel. I was then beset by what seemed to be small indistinct enemies in no small quantity, but instead of sending them through an endless feedback loop of portals, my portal gun threw flames at them, and they desisted.
Further exposition:
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