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Dream Journal

Felix Colgrave different name?

I’m offering to send friends KT and Julian postcards from other countries. But I ask them first if they’re okay with what I see is the fun part: the postcards are never from the country where I send them. So if I’m in Greece, expect a postcard from Thailand or somesuch. Well, I think it’s fun

There’s a sequence with a long zoom shot — or at least I thought it was, but The way it moves seems like that camera must be a drone. There are some great shots where waves crash over the viewing frame, demonstrating waterproofness I assume.

Does the cartoon artist Felix Colgrave have a different name?

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Dream Journal

Bubble Defense Exercise (some Starships too)

I’m Captain Pike sleeping on a bolster pillow all night. Very comfortable, more under blankets cool above, great sleep.


Perhaps I’m a mature responsible student, perhaps I’m sucking up to teacher. Cleaning up after a lecture class in a hall longer than it is wide, gathering all the spent materials together on a bed. The bed is the front rightmost in a row of semi-private anterooms that face the main science desk, a plain slab of rectangular black rock. Stephen Colbert could have been the instructor. On the far side, floor-to-ceiling windows reveal a gauzy view of lush sunlit valleys in the far distance.

We have a big training exercise in a mega-gymnasium using tennis rackets. The class is directed to hit back any bubbles that fly over from the other team. Fog misters are turned on (this gym is fancy) and the lights are dimmed so the far side is totally hidden. Quickly, it appears being fast enough to hit even a majority of bubbles is a near impossible task.

Then we form a line across one end of the large room to the other. This soon proves, as befits an actual school lesson, much easier. With only a certain small territory to defend, students can focus better on the projectiles they can hit. By chance I end up stationed almost behind a column. I speak with the short blonde girl who is posted directly behind it, joking about her readiness to perform her duty.

On the other side of her I observe a frisky lesbian girl working herself up to something. She briefly hits on the blonde then begins making out aggressively. There’s a moment of shock before anyone decides to do anything about it, separating the girls and holding back the unexpected aggressor.

After the exercise is concluded the expansive chamber is flooded. The water causes time to pass quickly. I zoom in on a view of an underwater spaceship, the Enterprise, left behind by a crew not unlike my class. The view pulls back and I notice an odd humorous little detail: a metal necktie carefully encircles the ships bridge, aging into deep time with the rest of it all.

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Dream Journal

Mysterious Chess-like Game

Discover a game (what turns out to be a very mysterious and difficult game) called “By Chance” or something similar. Played on a chessboard grid but slightly larger, with three rows of pieces, two teams of blue and red. The first row is short, like pawns. Other pieces have individual traits and names; one piece called Labrador (Akator?) is embedded with a sentient AI named Gaia, but at the wrong level of scope so the piece itself isn’t intelligent.

I’m in an underwater glass-domed space with someone, hyper-focused on the game and explaining some of the curiosities I’ve discovered so far. I ask the person I’m with if they’d like to play, then pick up the blue collection to move closer. I try to carry it all together by grabbing all the blue pieces. I lack the dexterity to pull this off — they tip over and, quite unexpectedly, are replaced with a single small chocolate chip. Another mystery, which to my instincts appears completely by design.

Going down a corridor I enter into a tight capsule-like space. It’s still underwater, but there are fewer windows, more little surface details. A lesbian couple is holed up together in one of the alcoves and greets me sleepily. There’s another presence which I’m unclear about: the god Zeus.

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Dream Journal

Dreamy Cool Plant-land

I’m underwater. On bus stops, the first presidential debate is advertised, being hosted by BuzzFeed (of all hosts!). The snappy slogans have to be altered though, a new first line added — after conservatives complain about anti-conservative bias (mostly the result of them not-getting-the-meme). Floating just over the edge of an underwater cliff, holding a half-full bottle in each hand, I release one of them and it unexpectedly goes sinking into the oceanic abyss. With surprising skill I bolt down to retrieve it and, with controlled movement, grab it and bring it back to safety.

Later I’m in a plant nursery, part open-air part 2-story building. The vibe is stylish and calm. I’m bottomless between the rows of waist-high tables, not thinking I would need pants, and only become embarrassed when someone asks how to find the bathroom. It would be the back bathroom of Paxton Gate. I remember thinking this is like something that would be in a dream.

In the dust-lit gloom of the upper nursery space, the garden is decorated with retired equipment. I count 2 or 3 mailboxes, numbered with 4 digit identifiers overgrown (or decorated?) with moss. It takes me a moment to inspect and recognize the rusted and repainted post of a lift gate, like you’d see in a gated parking lot. The room has a post-industrial Easter basket feel.

For a bit I seem to recall talking to Dara in this same room. She receives me as if I’m a visitor, facing me directly, and I look up to her standing on a dais. She wears an armored apron of brass scales. She is brief but not unfriendly.


I am looking for a private room to masturbate. I carefully peek in one of the conference rooms around the central space, but it’s occupied by Spy, Rachel W., and Anya talking animatedly. I consider the unusual meeting of three girls I know from different parts of my life years ago. I’m not even sure who I’d be willing to talk to.