Tag: diving

Categories
Dream Journal

Deep Dark Aquarium, Safe Again

Doing maintenance on a giant aquarium tank of mine, as tall as a two story building. I’ve nurtured it over years into a careful ecosystem. All the animals are fairly small for the size of the tank, nothing larger than the size of my hand perhaps. Most of them seem like they could be Paleozoic types, including some lateral swimming worms like Pikaia. The tank stays very dark and dim, making things intensely immersive when I dive to the bottom. I immediately notice there are fewer critters to be seen than usual. I’ve had it long enough that this has happened before and bounced back fine, but it is something worthy of concern.

On the way back down another time I notice and investigate my ability to breathe underwater. I realize it’s something I normally should only be able to do in dreams — it occurs to me that I could be dreaming of my tank, which isn’t exactly correct. Regardless, the realization does not increase lucidity.

Something about a jar for my friend Spanky with a yellow top. I recently did some home renovation for him.

Last part of the dream is about a thin yellow beetle that is accidentally released into my vulnerable aquarium biome. I’m greatly concerned, as it could tip off the kind of invasion that’d be devastating (especially to the creepy-crawly detrivores and roots in the dirt) especially now in it’s fragile state. I’m methodical though, and several people are enlisted to help. It’s caught with a bit of fanfare and exasperated relief.

[The event reminds me of a real story I heard of hundreds of oil company personnel paid to catch a single mouse on Barrow Island off the coast of Australia.]

Categories
Dream Journal

Dive Camp with Friends

A summer camp for diver’s training in underwater oil recovery. Mixed co-ed group of youngish people, high sexual tension but everyone is working too hard to do anything about it. A girl I know from the PacTrades hostel, Adrienne F., is climbing the rope ladder to our next task area but stops to masturbate. Supposedly, I remember her doing this in the past.

Karma Raya  is the name for the communal ranch house some of us stay in. A low wall separates our small sleeping rooms from a main activity area. The place looks like an architectural cutaway model that someone actually made a building of.

There, my school friend Vince Saunders is playing piano. Well there’s a piano in the same room anyways. I slide down the wall, over the edge, and land on the piano bench facing away from him. It’s a silly yet simultaneously classy move.

Categories
Dream Journal

Neither Brookstone, Nor Sharper Image, but P…

Diving into sparkling blue-white pool naked, after taking clothes off at water’s edge. As recommended by Pan Priest last night. Gathering of high-status leisure, Eileen is there, Koe, others too, attended by gynoid pool-parlor assistants.

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch has an electronically-assisted power to talk secretly in front of outsiders. It’s disguised, warped, imperceptible to normal hearing. She’s doing this on one occasion in a tile-walled library waiting room, located in my teenage bedroom, but when she starts talking about sex the filter starts to break. A maternal woman in the same room suddenly perceives her as a disfigured bird-faced large toddler.

There’s a high-end electronic store whose name I didn’t know. It was similar to Brookstone or Sharper Image, and it started with a ‘P’, but the owner there kept misleading me that it was different stores… that I knew it wasn’t. One, for instance, was affiliated with a Chinese family, incorporated the name ‘Chinatown’ and owned several different places in SF but not this one. I pick up an employment application from the floorboards, but I just can’t figure out the name. Most of the dream, I’m bugging myself trying to remember it.

In an aisle of rifles, there’s a loaded crossbow which predictably goes off the moment I touch it. I practically roll my eyes. Upon drawback, a thin silvery arrow-bolt shaft levers upwards 45 degrees for ease of loading.

In a distant more-forgotten section packed with older merchandise, on a lone mid-level shelf above the aisles, Lynae finds a curious vacuum (or… vacuum-like trinket). It’s package is the size of a coffee cup box, ancient-looking for electronics, from the 1980s at least. Some kind of toilet pun. Christmas-themed, too, with faded rainbow shoehorned in there. I don’t recall us opening it, but it was an amusing curiosity.