Rainin’ Ruin

had a dream i was at a children’s party that was being held in front of a mall, in a filthy parking lot near some stone benches and a bus stop.  up in the sky we saw a huge mixed flock of pigeons and seagulls and what looked like snow coming down.  my husband joe cubes pointed out that those were actually parasitic worms coming down from the sky, in little flurries about the size of tumbleweeds.  they began to touch down which was pretty disgusting.  as the party began to break up, i noticed toys on the ground, charred and mangled.  one doll was hard to distinguish from the corpse of a burned child.  i woke up before my alarm, no lingering fear or disgust, just a vague sense of winter.

rocknroll bus to hell

fitful dream, can’t get comfortable so i’m dreaming about trying to find a place to sleep.  i’m on a bus, turns out with a lot of musicians.  one is being a dick talking about how i’m too close to his keyboard where i’m trying to lay down.  i pick a different spot and sleep for what feels like seconds, wake up with a guitar underneath me broken into chunks.

found the young lady the guitar belonged to and she was like, well now I can’t play tonight.  wheedled out of her a price range on the guitar and went to buy a replacement.  on way back, accidentally dropped it somewhere, doubled back to find it, with marching orders for a new location to meet her after i find it or just get the money from an atm.

by now it’s just a planes trains & automobiles flavored frustration dream.  i’m having more interaction than I’d prefer with ever-increasing numbers of homeless people along the way, end up in some underground cul-de-sac that turns out to be a gay bathhouse.  i had surmised shooting gallery for heroin, but the growing crowd said otherwise – tho they were overdressed and there was no water i could see.

and now i start work in a minute.  ugh.

–

So That’s What Happened to Laura Palmer

had a dream i was a young lady taking the bus to the university district in seattle for the first time in a long time, my bookbag large but largely empty.  there was a silly bus driver having loud conversation with the other passengers that amused them, like he was a font of charisma, tho he looked a bit like a white-haired clint howard and was sometimes doing an arguably racist impression of a black blues singer.

by the time i got off the bus, i had been impressed enough to ask him to cut a track with my band sometime.  being a dream, of course i forgot my bookbag and had some drama retrieving it.  a confusing night passed into a dark blue early day.

during all of this it was being revealed that there was a path young people, mainly women, were feeling driven to undertake.  an early step involved following cars with ugly weird designs, a selection of random models from random brands, including kia, scion, and tesla.

you get these white worm-like things to go into your pupils, a different one for each hemisphere of the brain.  at one point a bunch of people were watching a girl while this happened and both went in one side, then sorted themselves out by one crawling out and going in the correct side.

then you feel compelled to eat at least four of these little charms.  in the dream they were called labubus but they were more like a cross between pikmins and teletubbies, dangled from bracelets and such.

i did these things, at last getting my bookbag back on that same bus that blue morning.  i got off the bus and followed the ugly cars into a parking tower, where i joined a procession with laura palmer to the rooftop.  there bright yellow tufts of hair began to grow out of our faces and we fed ourselves like food to UFOs.

good morning.

–

Scampering Animals

nothing special in the dream post, just getting discourse off the top of my blog.  this morning i had the fifty millionth iteration of “this cat in my home isn’t actually my cat” dream.  this time the dream had an excuse for the infiltration; my mother-in-law was fostering them without bothering to give us a heads up.

before i found that out i’d put them outside, assuming that’s where they came from.  then i had to go bring them in again.

there was another animal out there i didn’t recognize at first – a red ruffed lemur.  some visual particulars were more like the blue-eyed black lemur, but i was convinced of the former id.

some zoo employees came around and captured the beast, one of whom i recognized as the dude who was feeding them when i went to woodland park zoo irl.

the details of the dream got sloppy before disintegrating.  some more unreal creatures were around, roommates i haven’t seen in decades, etc.

what was the last animal you saw in a dream?

_

Playing with Fire in a House of Decay

I didn’t really intend to bring up this subject when I set out to write the post but it feels like necessary preface, and it’s something that deserves to get explained at some point, if I’m going to lay out my personal biz in the way I’ve been doing.  I love my husband a lot, but it isn’t that ardent romantic love you feel when you are young and foolish.  By the time I met him, I’d burned out on that concept.

I’d take a bullet for him and likely vice versa, so it’s like, who can get in front of that thang first?  On the other hand, I’d take a bullet for a stranger and he’d probably take one for a dragonfly.  We do love each other.  But there’s a bloody edge to the way humans love when we’re new, something more dire and deep.  Worse, I think it’s permanent.  Didn’t Dante turn his high school crush into an extra special angel in the Divine Comedy?  Even tho he had been married to someone else for ages?  I wouldn’t be so crass, but I understand why he did that.

This really sucks for my dude because he has never been involved in those kind of feelings, feeling them or having them felt about him, which ain’t good for your self image.  But in fairness to me, we are equally mild about each other.  It’s a love that takes care of business, doesn’t mess around, gives us something essential like vitamins, but it’s not desperate heart-throbbing and sobbing, falling to your knees and howling at the wind styled love.

Is it important to experience that “something special” level of passion?  Romance stories say yes.  I say no.  It sets you up for disaster.  Hell, most of the people who feel something like that should never be allowed to lay a finger on their intended.  You know what I mean?  Just because you feel like that doesn’t mean it’s going to be reciprocated.  When I did, it wasn’t.

And if it is reciprocated and the big passionate romance is realized, what happens when something goes wrong?  You get those situations where a person dies within three months of their spouse.  It’s unnecessary sorrow and pain.  Some amount of sorrow is well and good, but that shit should not lay you in the ground.

So I loved like a maniac and had my feelings burned out, once upon a time, and now it’s gone.  Good for everyone involved.  One of the more annoying things about that intensity is that the feelings for the individuals never really seem to go away.  I still have this bullshit-ass romantic feeling about a few people I haven’t seen in decades.  Boo!

I had a dream last night that my husband had given me permission to go hang out with one of these people I had loved.  IRL this would be a bad idea because those romantic feelings are such that judgment could be impaired.  I might do infidelity I’d never do under other circumstances.  As it happened, in this dream I did not, because I walked through the events in a dispassionate daze, like I was as sleepy in the dream as I would have been were I awake.

We looked younger in the dream than we do in real life, but mi amor had some kind of degenerative condition of his teeth and of the bones in his feet that made him take extra care with what he ate and how he walked.  He was living with his family, despite being an adult, presumably due to hard times.

Aside from meeting one of his cousins in junior high, I’ve never met his family or seen where they live, but I knew it was rural.  In my head this turned into a log cabin lodge, very spacious in the common areas but cramped in rooms.  The stairs were drawers for extra storage but could be left pushed in or pulled out in ways that made the distance unpredictable and a little dangerous.

The place was a mess, hoarder style, and the other family members were all mild-mannered rednecks – adults involved in chores and little boys running amok.  There was a very fat lady wearing nothing but lingerie, trying to relax on the couch, and say something about her philosophy.  I was open to the lesson but couldn’t understand the words.

Upstairs I was in his room.  We avoided saying anything earnest and dangerous with each other.  Seemed like we were just going to pass again, ships in the night.  Then I noticed every surface in the room had silverfish and maggots wriggling across them.  Not coated in the things, like maybe a density of one per four square inches.

This was not as disgusting to me as it would be in real life, but I did insist we go somewhere else to hang out.  Down the dangerous stairs we went, careful with his feet, past scampering boys and philosophers and rednecks, into that dark place where your alarm clock goes off and puts you to work.

I don’t think there was anything truly interesting in this dream, but felt the need to write it out.  Probably a sense of significance derived from that old flame.  If the alarm hadn’t gone off, would I have cheated on my husband in my sleep?  In my heart?

I do not know, but it reinforced for me the sense that should the opportunity arise to get in touch with this man again in real life, I should not.  Fortunately, that will not happen.

–

Dog Day Hangover

had a dream young al pacino had a drag persona that had achieved local fame.  at the same time he was an aspiring politician, even tho he was deeply compromised by the mob.  to get clear of his alter ego, he schemed to have a look-alike killed at a public event where both would be present.  “that can’t be me, look ther– oops, she’s gone.”

in his ladyesque identity, a mob guy had fallen in love with her and objected to the idea enough to have an emotional confrontation with him about it.  somebody got kirked in the neck but lived to stagger away through a secret exit.

–

Hulking Out and Kenning Gee

last night i had a dream the hulk was on a rampage and the only way to get him to stop was for some other super-guy with super duper strengths to cut open his chest and inject a sedative straight into his heart.  a bunch of super randos were making attempt after gory attempt.

at some point within the last forty-eight hours it has crept over me that i remember not one but two kenny g tunes.  there was that one, i think his first big hit?, that’s all like “badoodledoo, badoodledoo, badoody-doo.  badoodledoo, badoodledoo, badoody-doot-doot-doo!”  then there was this other one with a vocal sample in it, some ambiguous crowd of people saying “slip of the tongue” over and over again.  “slip of the tongue, badadoo badadoo doodoot Slip! moodledoodle.”

that shit sucked boy.

–

Back to School or Else

I don’t know if other people have this dream or it’s just people like me who did not graduate high school, but last night I had to go get my diploma at near fifty years old.  I didn’t actually get through the doors of the institution in this dream, however.  This dream changed its natural course before I got there, and turned into a species of frustration dream.

Originally it was going to be my brother and I going back to high school, and down in San Francisco, so we were going to fly there.  But I couldn’t find the plane tickets at the last minute, couldn’t find my brother, and went rampaging around looking for them.  Gradually it became clear the reason I couldn’t find anything was that this was a dream, and I had never needed to go back to school, or go anywhere.

Was it a dream though?  I didn’t know I was dreaming at the time, only knew that the element where I had to go back to school was false.  Competing theories filled my head.  Was it a dream I had taken for real, or a delusion?  Was I becoming prematurely demented?  This was very upsetting, changing things into a nightmare.

At that point it shifted focus into gathering books and papers that had accidentally been left out in the parking lot, not having enough hands, all that kind of shit.  But the larger problem remained; I had no idea why I had thought I needed to go back to school, and it tore me up.

As I woke up, I had to pass through a hypnopompic state where the dream still felt real, so I was very focused on figuring out what’s real, like I could reason my way through it instead of just finishing waking up and letting the whole crisis melt away on its own.  At least it was much less emotionally intense by that point.

After that I fell asleep again, for a dream where i had a job with nebulous duties and a malevolent boss, which involved a little bit of actual cat herding.

–

Catch Me if You Can

In an effort to not be AI discourse all the time blog, I try to bury those posts quickly with something else.  Here’s an extremely low effort dream post.

Ever had an indoor, or caged type of pet, and have a dream you’re holding it outside?  Then in the dream you forget you were holding it just long enough to come up with empty hands, and now your dream has become scouring the world for said pet, or just crying because recovering it will be hopeless?

I had one of those.  Also featured being underdressed in public.  Was there anything new in it?  Lessee… I was walking by this house which wasn’t mine but for some reason I was sure all the plants in it were my husband’s.  But this didn’t jar me, like, I didn’t connect that his houseplants should be in our house.  The people inside were some kinda goths, the lights were low.

I saw these huge butterflies in there and called their attention to it.  Hey, let those butterflies out.  I’m busy so I can’t; I’ll trust you to get them out of the house how you will.  Coming in to tell them that, I stirred up the bugs, and realized they were colorful and even larger than I had thought, sphingid moths.  I left for the bathroom and overheard the young lady saying a poem or spell about how she hoped to gain something by eating them.  And I knew they’d be eaten by the time I came back, so no point launching an objection.

Alright, have a good day, and don’t talk about robots.

–

Dream Scheme

I had a dream that was very sensible.  No illogic or nonsense, just a pretty standard stress plot.  If I wasn’t racing to work, I would have bothered to remember more of it.  However, one element stands out in my memory.  It was not at all the point of the dream, just something within it.

There was a family of people involved in the dream stress.  I don’t remember much about them, except this.  The adult siblings were all involved in an alternate version of astrology that was somewhere between lottery and multi-level marketing scam.  You get these cardstock calendars, to which you would attach tickets that you purchased for each day, which were supposed to be instructive to your life, horoscope style.  Seemed like filling out the calendars was supposed to have a benefit as well, though I don’t remember what that was.

I remember these calendars and tickets though.  The calendars were big because they had to accommodate thirtyish days of tickets, and each of these was about one and a half by three inches.  Scratch ticket vibes in the design, though constellations were involved as well.

The oldest brother was deepest into the sunk cost of this MLMish quasireligion, and tried to guilt his younger brother and sister to stick with it when they were considering skipping a day.  Sister was the most insistent that younger brother just give it up.  After all, they had stress dream shit to do.  No time for comforting rituals.

Maybe I should design these things, work with an antisocial business major to print some up, and make a bank full of money.  Fill out your calendars, see what the future has in store for you!  The very fact I’d joke about this shows some reptile level part of myself would totally do it, shows that the damage I’m suffering from life in this shitty-ass country.

–