Hobo Flotilla vs Hamster Plague

Another night during my battles with insomnia I had a vivid dream with cinematic scope.  Kyle MacLachlan in Dale Cooper mode played a government bureaucrat who by twist of fate was put in charge of a British industrial ship, during a time when a weather crisis had messed up global trade.  Most of the ship’s crew had been allowed to go home with a generous buyout, so the skeleton crew that remained was able to just maintain the boat in a lazy mode.

The plot of the movie revolved around a decision by Kyle to have the crew do something positive with their idle time.  This was treated feel-good and uplifting.  He got them to build a floating city to help with homelessness.  It was originally going to be in a foreign country – they got the parts somewhere like Indonesia or the Philippines – but they negotiated to have it parked outside San Francisco instead.  The city charged $100 rent to floating city tenants.

Years later Kyle was married to somebody from that crew and looking at retirement.  The couple were toodling around the ocean on a personal craft, and by talking to some aquatic hobo, found out the floating city was then moored in the neighborhood of Long Island.  They went to visit and found various people of limited means living there.  The landlord types had complaints about the students being rowdy and polluting.  They also talked about other issues in the community, like finding a humane solution for pest control, since feral hamsters had become the city’s rats.

Despite not being a class of people who would ever need income restricted housing, the couple settled there, for poetic reasons.  At this point in the dream the couple became my boyfriend and myself, and my brother was hanging around as well.  I had to take care of my cats, which included the late Momo.  For some kind of basic care, I had to routinely cut off all of Hecubus‘s legs.  It’s OK; they would grow back.  I was pondering to myself that maybe I could get away with not cutting off those legs this time around, or only cutting off one of them, and my brother was finding it bizarre that I ever had to do it in the first place.

Mo FtB Mo Problems

I’ve been having the insomnias, and with only 2 days of sick leave in tha bank, I needed to get it under control.  I’ve been doing Zzzquil and melatonin every night.  Well, until last night.  I was so tired, I felt like, maybe I can do this with just a lil’ help.  So I only did the melatonin.  I woke up at 5:30 and it took a while to sleep again.

When I finally did get to the land of nod, it was a furious mash of dream waste.  Stock BS in elaborate detail.  I was at some kind of christmas event in the gold-drenched lobby of a hotel that was grading into a mall.  Looking for a place to sit I found some show for kids was the best spot, and took a seat there.  Conscious of the possibility I’d be seen as a pedo, I avoided looking at anything but the show.  I had a ziploc bag full of melty holiday cookies to eat.  The show was live entertainment at first but became a montage of celebs in holiday specials.  Charles Bronson was in the mix, with a grotesquely squishy face and surprisingly high singing voice.

At some point the dream switched to being about FreethoughtBlogs and the administration thereof.  One of the bloggers that posts less often was on a tear.  This wasn’t a real FtBer, but was something of a median persona as a middle-aged dude.  He had a regular enough post about politics or computer programming or something, but randomly at the end of it and without warning, he embedded a video of himself fully naked, masturbating to completion.

Seeing a chubby middle-aged dude masturbate to completion is not a turn-off for me when I’m awake, so in the dream I was copacetic with it, the full ethical ramifications beyond my sleeping mind.  I did, however, consider the possibility other people may be bothered, and wondered if I’d have to go in the back channel to reconvene an FtB ethics committee about it.  I think he was starting to attract comments from people wondering what the hell he was thinking by the time the alarm got me.

Possibly something in waking life put the kernel of that dream in my mind.  Who can say?

These Dreams

These dreams go on when I close my eyes, every second of the night I live another life.  No, I’m not gonna embed the Heart video where the camera became allergic to Ann Wilson’s plus loveliness.  But I am going to tell you about my recent dreams, as if that was interesting, haha.

This will be a short one.  I didn’t make an effort to remember the dream well right when I woke up, and it was some time last week I had this?  Anyway, I was an evil clown.  Just for a minute, but that’s kinda weird.  It was one of those dreams that changes perspective, like movies change who they follow in different parts.  So it was basically one of the scenes that follows Jason around while he’s slashin’.

I shot these teenagers in the head with a crappy little revolver, but it got the job done.  One dead, two dead, three, four.  As I was killing these kids, I felt no especial joy or malice or anything.  I had only one thought:  Am I doing this wrong?  I’m supposed to be scaring them first, aren’t I?  I’m doing this wrong.

So now you know what lurks within the heart of the killer clown.  Mild self-reproach.

Imagination Machine Broke

Had a dream that was a mashup of Logan, No Country for Old Men, and Of Mice and Men.  Whatever wasn’t from one of those wasn’t exactly original either.  Younger Josh Brolin and a younger kid were escaped from a home for maladjusted youth where some murders happened.  Who did that?  Seems it was the younger kid and he snapped because he was being molested.  Kid Brolin snaps and ends up killing that kid, but then becomes a serial killer himself, somehow also friends with old version of Professor X from Logan, and using his powers to get away with stuff.  Like, Prof X has the powers but little sense of himself, and Killer Kid Brolin has the force of personality to lean on him, make him do what he wants.  And of course, who /where was I, in all of this?  Living on passive media got a lot of us dreams where we are nobody and nothing, just taking in a universe like watching a tv show.  It’s one of those deals.

Becoming Aware of One’s Nudity

Content Warning:  Sleazy Energy, Dreamposting

I’ve been waking up with the sun around eight and then having to try to go back to sleep, or just resting an hour til my alarm goes off and hoping that counts for something.  This morning though, I was able to return to sleep.  I used the time-honored method of having a quick wank, pardon my French.  This was, I think, a mistake.  With the limited time I had left to dream, my mind went to unsavory places.

Dreams about being naked or in one’s underwear probably come from noticing, in your sleep, that you are underdressed – and then incorporating that into the plot.  Much like nightmares about your teeth falling out seem connected to noticing that you have teeth, and your dream generatin’ brain piece thinking of the most obvious thing to do with that information.  So I became aware, in my dream, that I was only wearing underwear, and I set off in search of my clothes.  At some point, I was petting or snuggling with a piglet.  # Just Dream Things.

Along the way, people seemed to either mildly rib me, or sleaze on me – saying suggestive things, or assuming I was a rent boy or something.  One of the sleazers looked like either J. Allen Brack or Aron Ra.  He wasn’t trying to get with me, but he was explaining to me how his hedonistic posse would have parties where they watch somebody playing Elden Ring on a big screen.  His favorite part was (something not actually in the game) where a three-headed monster lady with pale flesh was dying and blood pooled up between her legs in the shape of pubic hair.  I quickly moved along.

At some point I was obligated to lay down.  I may have been talking with somebody, or trying to keep my head low to avoid being seen in my underoos.  The piglet from before rolled up on me from the side.  I wasn’t initially looking its way and it started snuffling at my face.  This may have been caused by my cat IRL.

The piglet started speaking to me in a manly voice, on a grade to Werner Herzog.  It seemed to think our prior snuggling was a sexual experience, and was giving me the business about it.  “Did you enjoy it when we made love, or did it feel awkward?”  I glanced over and saw that the piglet was wearing girly lingerie, and it kept badgering me.  It was repeating the question “Did you enjoy it when we made love?” but altering the second part of the sentence, like a poem.  I suspect this part of the dream was inspired by the Nine Inch Nails cover of Queen’s Get Down Make Love, which opens with a sample from the 1962 version of The Cabinet of Caligari.

The alarm clock woke me brutally and I had to race through my morning routine as usual, then get to work.  I’m surprised I remember any of it at all.  But should I be glad?


Haven’t been very active lately on here.  Or have I?  Maybe the fact I’m not reading other blogs, not up on what my FThBlggies are up to, that makes it feel like I’m out of touch.  &/or out of time.  But I’m out of my head when you’re not around, oh oh oh, oh oh OH.  By the way, that Hall & Oates track is part of an anime-inspired Thursday meme.  There is another Thursday meme inspired by another anime, with Asuka Evangelion wishing you a Feliz Jueves.  It’s only Tuesday though, no time for that.  I’m OUT of TIME.

There’s a song by the Dead Milkmen called Dean’s Dream, from their album Big Lizard in My Backyard.  I think it’s about the way a dream feels significant and you want to tell somebody about it, but that sense of importance cannot be communicated, and ultimately dreams are silly garbage.  The climax of the dream in that song is, “We argue and fight and one pulls a knife;  He hits me in the back but I’m alright.”  I had a dream my boyfriend was in one of the crushed floors of a partially collapsed building and I ignored the warnings to go in and save him.  He was just standing there, alright, in his purple flannel shirt.  He’s alright.

On an unrelated thing, I think it’s very possible my dying words will be, “I don’t feel so good Mistew Stawk.”  After that moment in Marvel’s TV’s Revengers: The Semi-Finals, I quickly came to feel profoundly amused by that supposedly serious moment in the movie.  Even the idea that for some other people the drama landed, genuinely choked them up for a moment, felt real … it just adds to the hilarity somehow.

Now, however many years later, whenever I have low blood sugar or am otherwise wobblin’ or wimpy, that’s the first thing that springs to my lips.  Ergo, if I’m having a heart attack and it’s one of those stealthy boys where you just feel out of sorts until it’s Die Time, I’ll probably say the line right before my entire life is rendered a joke.  Correct and appropriate, I suppose.

I’m starting to think I’m mildly bipolar, which is funny I never realized that before, given my brother is medicated for that and our father is a straight cartoon character off that diagnosis.  But it’s OK.  I just get delusions of grandeur sometimes.  They’re probably a good thing, when they don’t keep me up nights.

This is pretty much the epitome of Random Thoughts from Satan posts.  I hope it wasn’t a waste of your time.  Have a sweet day.

Dreamposting – Learning to Fly

Had a dream lately where I, once again, remembered I can fly.  Some people asked me how and I showed them.  We flew around grubby slightly apocalyptic version of downtown Seattle a while.  In my flight dreams, I basically jump hard and follow it up by pushing my center of gravity in my preferred direction.  It has stops and starts like the swimming of jellyfish.  When you can fly, what’s it like?

Dreamposting – Institutional Violence

Content Warnings:  Unreality, Starvation, Violence, Torture, Animal Suffering, Animal Death.

I have access to sensitive information at work and Saturday morning I had a dream that I went to prison for accidentally disclosing some of that information improperly.  This prison wasn’t a very secure structure but it was a given that if we tried to escape we’d die, so we didn’t.  I didn’t know anybody and everything felt very dangerous.

They gave us food that was amazingly vile.  There were hard boiled eggs made from some kind of reconstituted matter, the whites breaking up into irregular chunks, the yolks green and slimy – possibly rotten.  The bread was basically cardboard with some tiny amount of food like substance in the press to make it easier to swallow.

I couldn’t eat the food for two days and began starving to death, which is silly because how does two days pass in a dream and also that’s not long enough to starve to death.  I expressed my suffering and a prison guard attended to me.

She led me outside.  For some reason she forgot that my problem was hunger and led me to a highway underpass where feral cats lived.  She wanted to give me a cat for companionship and dug out a large but bony cat, long-haired grey tabby and dirty.  The cat was amenable but I thought it would for sure be hurt or killed in the prison, or even by the guard that was with me.  She was brutish and seemed to bristle with barely restrained violence, even with words of kindness in her mouth.

I declined the cat and she started picking up others from the same stretch of dirty highway grass.  I knew she was going to hurt them and discouraged her with each in turn.  I knew she wasn’t going to leave until she had killed one of the kittens.  At last she came to a kitten that had been born conjoined at the head to a dead twin.  I nodded consent and she used some kind of implement to split the heads apart.  I woke shortly after.


Sunday (today) I had a much better dream.  I was working in a generic open office space, no cubes.  Funny it’s never my actual office but then, I’ve been telecommuting half the years I’ve worked there.

I overheard somebody dealing with a supervisor, where they needed to get something signed off by a specific person.  That person was unconscious or incapacitated, but still sitting at a desk there.  The supervisor cheesed the letter of the policy by holding a pen in the unconscious guy’s hand and writing his signature with it.

I grew suspicious.  Somehow I figured out that sus sup was actually a Russian spy, along with one accomplice.  They had a small external hard drive they could use to defraud millions of americans and we had to get it back.  I yelled for help and everyone in the office scrambled to catch the spies or at least get the hard drive back.  Or so I thought.  They were acting like dream people, where you ask them to do one thing and they can’t comprehend it or manifest the agency to do it.

Frustrated, I took off in pursuit.  The supervisor spy’s accomplice got away, but I ended up in a tense upstairs downstairs elevators and parking garages pursuit with her.  By that point in the dream I was a woman, I think, so it’s not too weird I got into a big fist fight with her.  She was a skinny little blonde lady over thirty, TV actor energy, but she could rumble in tha jungle.

The whole time we were having some kind of philosophical debate about how it’s wrong to do crimes, with moments of “if only you knew the power of the dark side.”  It was perversely romantic.  By the time the alarm woke me up, I was feeling some affection for my foe.  Enemies to lovers trope, haha.  I like action dreams.

Love in Dreams and a Rat-sized Mouse

I had a dream last night that I don’t remember well, outside of these few specifics.  I’ve never had a pet mouse or rat or been interested to, but in this dream I had a mouse that was the size of a small rat.  It died and we had to report it to some government agency.  As a small animal, for proof of death I was able to submit his entire body through the mail.  We received the body back along with a partially calligraphic letter offering official condolences on our loss.

I noticed his body was in perfect condition.  While cool to the touch, I kept feeling like there were little movements in him.  Lo and behold, he woke up.  I was happy to tell my boyfriend he was, in fact, alive.  The report of his demise was made in error.

I was so happy, in fact, that I felt a sense of relief and of love for the little animal, unadulterated by conscious self-awareness and bitterness.  Pure love, quickly forgotten on waking.  But I had a sense that I lost something in the transition to waking life, that I should have stayed asleep.  You ever fall in love in a dream?  Have a friend or lover or relative in a dream who does not exist in real life, where waking up felt like a real loss?

It’s nothing now, but funny how our minds can do that to us.

GodDAMMIT Dreampost

Content Warnings:  Suicide, Vomit, Drowning, Trump


Picture this.  It’s a medium overcast day on a shore somewhere in New Jersey or New York, with a view of the city skyline in the background.  Maybe it’s a slightly woolly golf course or a nature reserve of some kind but it looks like The Mere of Dead Men from Lord of the Rings.

Trump has called a strange press conference with few people present, and it is being filmed from a high angle – a helicopter perhaps.  But something is wrong.

The people above the water are frantic, trying to help or trying to flee.  Below the water’s surface, a few senatorial looking men in suits are clearly already dead.  Trump himself is eight feet deep, chugging from a whiskey bottle.  He lets it go and a cloud of yellow vomit puffs out of his mouth before he stops moving.

Having been filmed live, even if news channels have hesitation to show the footage, Trump’s moment has close-cropped animated gifs popping up all over the internet.  People are bewildered but kind of euphoric, some are celebrating.  Hey, I don’t live in Kansas.

I can’t believe it, though I want to.  I run here and there, test the boundaries of reality, slap my face, ask everyone I see, look at every TV or computer screen.  Everything is telling me it’s real.

Before I fell asleep last night I started coughing, so I put in a cough drop.  I had woken up briefly some time before dawn and not knowing what to do with the dregs of the drop in my mouth, I pressed it between my right ring finger and pinky.  The flesh was sticky there, which I noted and also conspired to make me believe I was awake, that it was real.

When I finally did wake up, well, you know what world you live in.  My fingers were sticky from the cough drop.  That piece of shit-ler is still alive somewhere.

But man, for one shining, drawn-out moment in my heart…