Dream Journal

3 of 6 Dreamcards

Waking up hours earlier than I should, with only 5 hours sleep. I remember having six distinct dreams, but I know from past experience if I wake up to write them down I won’t be able to fall back asleep. But if I fall asleep, I almost certainly won’t remember them. On returning to sleep I envision the dreams as a row of cards, each with a title and the single most powerful image from it. I managed to remember half of them, though strangely they are not in any order or sequence. Typically, I can remember one part of a dream and reconstruct the narrative.

I’m attending a stage reading event where my Nana is one of the presenters. We have a pleasant conversation across the table from each other under the big tent. We depart together at the end.

Sitting backwards on a bus, a kid has a hand over his face. Kids are keeping other kids in strict lines this way. There’s a social order aspect I don’t fully understand, but find troublesome.

RFC. is a “request for comments” and an in-joke. Among internet engineering nerds, it alludes to the idea of elderly people’s life stories being absorbed into a universal hive mind (or Akashic records) at the end of their lives. It’s an old trope creatively and bizarrely mapped onto a modern interface. Lives, in this sense, are additional “comments”.

Dream Journal

Called my Nana “Mom”, A Lack of Unaccomplishment

I called my nana “Mom”. It’s the second time in the dream, and we make a little joke out of it.

Leaving motorcycle across the street in my neighbors driveway temporarily. Dad’s white car is parked across the street.

Feeling like a loser, living in my parents new apartment, trying to decide my life. Only so many places I could go, maybe Palm Springs, maybe a traveling job like a trucker, build a small place in the woods. Also, my parents don’t know I vape — one more thing I guess. I wear an elaborate creased-shoulder shirt, one with a small triangle hole cut out of it. It’s an odd detail, but I know I couldn’t replicate that myself if I tried.

Dream Journal

Drew’s Dinosaur-Infested Pad

Pulling into the driveway of Drew Carey’s bachelor pad with a friend of mine, who just started dating him. His bed is very close to the glass double doors. Inside, we find him playing an sit-inside racing game. Drew is an experienced host and the house has a few sparse rooms with dude-ish amusements, including a foldout pool table (the balls have chips in them though). One sunlit room near the back of the house has a water feature with lazy psittacosauri, crunchy brown pine bonsai, and tiny slimy yellow hadrosaurs — eerily intelligent and otherworldly ones that walk on hind legs.

The story seamlessly transitions to a Jurassic Park story, raptors stalking, and I step out the back door into a sweeping valley, only to peek around the side of the house and see a giant carefully escorting a thin, tottering, grayish Godzilla.

Dream Journal

Pizzeria and Checking on Family

A 5-story apartment building, reminiscent of an old European city, where my Nana lives on the 4th floor. Before I climb the arched stairway I see an ad for a chic pizzeria on the top floor, which serves pizza topped with round slices of several colorful specialty sausages – pink, purple, brown — quite surprisingly appetizing. I’m sent to check in to see if my Nana is sleeping (she died in 2001 but this dream persona seemed about age 7, when I lived in a 2-story). I knock on her door a little too loud, hear no response, and enter. She isn’t there, in fact her bed isn’t even there. I look around the room, in the opposite direction, and instead find my mom. We have a brief conversation. The walls are comfortingly ancient. I can smell the pizza, and I’m hoping we can eat there soon.

Dream Journal

Collected Dreams from the Past Week

In the dream I’m blogging — here, on — and see that the URL permalink reads 10-2. I have an intense come-up feeling as I become something like lucid.

Pax Imperia, little cute solar systems. I see my homeslice Mickey B. I’d later realize this dream was very close to a ninth-grade fantasy I’d had while first starting to lucid dream, that we’d be able to play realistic space games together while we slept.

Dressed in a pair of tiny cute skivvies, I’m hopping from boat to boat in a crowded harbor marina. I get inside a spacious empty ferryboat filled with rows of low-slung benches, the windows and walls are clear plastic. Jumping from public bathroom to plain basic houseboat, battening the hatches. Off in the distance there’s a massive wave, a wave the size of a mountain. Later, I’d recall another dream of being in that massive wave — no sign of a harbor in that dream. Also, another dream many years ago where I scubaed alongside a whale.

J’aime Andrade, a member of color guard in my high school marching band, showed up in cool convertible with a few of her friends. Post-gothy aesthetic. They were having a blast and lifted my spirits.

(this night I meditated in bed before sleep for an hour…)

  • I’m on the phone, giving my friend Reecy directions while she’s in Germany
  • Lorelei is having a second baby, I’m very happy for her but unfortunately it wasn’t her life plan. Later I’m walking along the outside of a rounded fence near an abandoned area, I accidentally re-dial her and am embarrassed.
  • A biplane crashes just outside the Fartpartment, it’s an excuse for me to leave and wander the streets, and become lucid.
  • I stare at the beautiful horizon, receding infinitely into the distance, lucid but unimpressed with reality and the dream. It’s unimportant to me.

In a darkened apartment I’m with an elegant Greco-Roman topless statue of Sabrina W. Who should wander in, but Sabrina! She makes a show of approving of the work, and I find myself speechless (once again) in her presence.

Last day: I run into my nana under my apartment stairs, she finds me hiding a water bottle. Somehow that bottle is evidence of murder, but not one I had anything to do with — I just don’t want the creepy water bottle anymore. My nana gets me to put it someplace it could be found later, in the basement.