The file tables have been altered. I got rid of all the quotation marks, the [prepends], I cut all the fat. So interesting to see how it works differently now.
I wouldn’t think this counts as a dream. But I was dreaming. But I’m also sick.
Supposed to be fleeing a volcano which is about to erupt in a tiny community. But a bunch of us just stay there, to see if it’s really going to happen. Seems like it works out? But the volcano still erupts?
“Opens 6:00 am” changed to 6:08 on the sign of The 500 club, a neighborhood bar I’ve never been to.
We have a Wolfram brand GPS unit that came in flat plastic bag that’s the wrong size, that’s supposed to serve as the case. It looks like it’s in sideways. It’s usable, but I don’t feel like I never want to show it to anyone.
In a strange unfamiliar bedroom of San Francisco, that nevertheless has been my small corner bedroom for several years. Easy to tell how awkward and small it is — it’s so close to neighbors I can see three of them working on their gutter just outside my window. Maybe 5 ft away. It’s strange to notice as I look down they’re all standing on individual ladders.
Picking up a bag, set on top of a full trash can, and seeking to find the true owner — the inventor — of this, the embossed aluminum hummingbird bag. More of the pinch opening like of a coin purse. I fill this hummingbird pouch with discarded finches, of which there are many. Like the Styrofoam ones I got from New York a year ago.
In our large, outdoor aquarium setup (taking up about as much space as a shipping container) I remove one of the former centrally-important fish, replacing it with a very nervous mini-plesiosaur. The thing has a pleasingly silly dark green appearance, darting and swimming around like a toy from a cartoon (or perhaps some Midjourney images I’ve made).
In the open water of a lake with many boats, I’m directed to catch a kid wearing floaties and suspended by the chords of a parachute. I drag him over to the Relentless — a boat I used to crew once upon a time. I tell my friend Anton (reminding him actually) that if something you do is “stealing” from a billionaire… you’re just stealing it back.
At some point I left behind my motorcycle clothing somewhere. It’s since been moved, and I navigate stations of a library scattered about an outdoor terraced environment, collecting it piece by piece.
Amongst a nameless store of long aisles, I’m surprised to find myself one aisle over from a large pile of new-old-stock Jurassic Park toy boxes, both velociraptor and dilophisaur. Obviously I wouldn’t have seen these for sale in retail box since I was a kid, mid-90s. I find myself wondering if I should stock up. I hear a lesbian couple discussing them, unseen, in front of the pallet. I hear them speculating aloud about the toys’ abilities, and unknown to them there’s a tramsmit functionality. Without saying a word, I move a walkie-talkie (previously hanging on its strap in my aisle) in front of them both, on top of the toy box pile. So they can now hear their own voices as heard by the toys.
I’m picnicking under a scenic tree, a blissful naive youth on a sunny noon. I hear from inside the nearby building the struggles of a group of people with a huge animal, though I’m generally unconcerned. Suddenly it breaks through the doors, a paleolithically large bison, never seen since ancient times. Without pause it charges directly at me. I maintain my gaze and observe as its horn catches on a tree, throwing off its momentum. It untangles itself and charges away a different direction. But I know it would’ve got me, that it could sense that I was just another of those animals that would eat it’s kind if I could. Leaves me thinking of the old megafauna… how strange it must have felt living around them.
I arrive and depart my friend Sarah’s house via freeway (normally I walk there so this is a bit of an exercise). I’m too early for whatever I came for, and there’s just her, a floor made of large wet pebbles, and a table with the TV on it. Sarah continues mostly paying attention to the TV as I promptly realize I don’t have anything to do here for now, and should cut my losses.
At a yoga retreat in an old open-air stone construction. It’s brisk and I’m running naked in a circular path — exhilarated. Who knows if I can do this, but I’m getting away with it. I discover a small standing monument that is simply a pipe stuck vertically in the ground, with a little plaque bearing a recipe for elixir. The plaque is obscured as Bud Light cans have been left on it from sloppy guests. I gently flick them away.
I’m waiting for a girl I don’t know that well, Laura R. (nom de plume: context sans) in a side room. This is after I meet her by assignment. Perhaps we were laying in bed together. There’s some sexual tension but it’s hard to define. We did meet on a dating site, after all. I might show her my loyalty and ability to work, but I’m also showing her that I needn’t be set on her.
Barber shop downstairs from where I live now, but it’s actually my unit in the dream. Axe on wall I take down, and I’m testing different animal-style strikes. On one side is a list of moves, and the other side is just instructions for Mongoose style. The winning move is to hit the blunt side of the ax to right side of face, which I do — to you know who. I noticed the ax has a chip out of it, a distinct triangle out of the blade side that I didn’t do.
I realize after waking it connects with a little project I’m doing. Beat it to a grimy pulp, as goes the saying I wrote in my consultant deck.
Notice that my rat Tip can get under the door. This is still a concern as he hasn’t integrated with his brother.
A YouTuber I follow, Jenny N. is in a tent off to one side (treated as a room). I watch her check her “isis”, which is located between the labia and vagina. I can see the circle ring of teeth — but don’t note it as special. Hope I don’t get caught watching and called a perv by people outside. Genuinely just checking in on her and curious.
Later I’m waiting on the ground floor in a twilight atrium space, one of those malls that are like a long corridor. While I’m there, they close a store that does trainings. So I get escorted through the mall for a long way through “closed-off” territory. It’s a tile-floored ramp that seems familiar now.
Testing out new apartment. My wife has set the glass barrier of the outside window too close, giving us not enough room. We place a “door hole” door in the wall, a device that allows you to compare the size to any residence you might be more familiar with.
But the building is on a ship and rocks at sea. One of the many sacrifices of this lifestyle, I’d say. I realize: I need to inform my wife we won’t be playing any vinyl records if we live here… a joke, but a true one…
I’m proud of my accomplishment. I’ve set up an observation post overlooking all ten delivery sites in a lake, at the only spot on a ridge above that has such a vantage. Everything is set up for when those happen and I can walk away.
I’m contacted at my unlisted number by a mysterious girl. I figure out that she hacked me, but I put off responding until I can hack info on her, to respond in kind. This is a delicate thing, and she could become a love interest.
In a brick alcove on the side of a street I encounter a “Tweet 3D” training kiosk, with little floating panels on a laminar sheet. I already know this futile attempt at a new feature will fizzle out soon.
Going to attempt retrieval of stuff stored in a USB combination locker, from back before the Ukraine war started. We had all been worried things were going to escalate much worse. I’m then waylaid by a (very) former friend Kate W. who traps me with accusations. But it’s relatively easy to parry these accusations and discern that she’s stalling, waiting for my long-ago roommate Emily W. (no relation) to get here, as they are in fact now roommates. While I’m arguing I notice their many pet fish, kept in Tupperware containers on the shelf below a big CRT TV. Normally I’d love to ask about these fish.
Instead I see Ursula K. Le Guin sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. I pointedly change my attention to her, and take the opportunity to give personal thanks for her works. I mention “Always Coming Home” especially, and say that it counts as one of my favorites — even though I’m not through with it. Ursula congenially answers that that’s fine and appropriate even, as she never felt like she was done with it either.
Camping on a private beach on the south shore of an island when an alien invasion is announced.
I don’t know the private landowner who I’m staying with, but he has a floating camper with hidden food stores, on a big swampy plot to the southwest. The land is basically only being held until it’s valuable enough to sell for home development, which I find regrettable.
I watch a childlike version of myself be rescued from under a table. After I recover, and can walk along the offramps of the freeway out of town, the same area is searched again. I then help the person who helped me, to now get a small kid who has a leg injury out from under the table. I feel warmly about this.
Much nicer than last night’s dream, which left me feeling haunted. I deliberately didn’t save it.
I am becoming more powerful, together with my wife, upon learning the secret of controlling reality. Being fully one with what is, much like being crazy. Maybe it’s even the same.
It starts to act as contagion on others — including a blonde Australian in a garage. (The garage is like one in Palm Springs I visited with my first girlfriend, the one where the usurped former boyfriend lived.) It rapidly spreads, and everyone is just as powerfully able to control the world around them.
On someone’s recommendation, I visit Dad World where there’s an entire long apartment block full of dads that celebrate a father’s parenting.
Beyond that, this world’s version of a redwood tree park isn’t as good as our reality. A big ancient gnarled tree is encased in…
(darn, that’s as much as I got down)