Thursday, October 1, 2015

Why I Don’t Keep a Dream Journal


I still don’t have recurring dreams.

All the “recurring dream concepts” from my childhood (gliding, twisty tree transport, giant bathrooms) still hold true.

This is why, when I exited the ENORMOUS (yet abandoned in February) rest room along the Atlantic City boardwalk I was twitchy and confused for the rest of the day, as I half expected potato aliens to steal my family.


There is one new recurring concept.  No matter the nature of the dream, I am taking a history class.  I never go to the class, I never see evidence of the class, I just know I’m taking it. I also know that there’s a humongous term paper due.  It isn’t due soon, but there’s an overwhelming sense of unease as I haven’t picked a topic, and I’m not sure of the due date.

This is, of course, because most of my brain is well aware that there is no term paper and, in fact, no history class. However, the rest of my brain enjoys laughing at the dreaming part of my brain, and therefore never reveals its secret.

I have also learned the gentle methods of controlling dreams.  This was a multi stage process.

First I learned to say, “Hey this is a nightmare!” and force myself to wake up.

There were a couple of occasions in fun dreams, where I made the realization, and hung on for the ride.

One night during a “chased by a generic monster in the fog” nightmare, I realized it was a dream, and instead of trying to jump out of it said, “Hey! This is my dream!” and turned into the Incredible Hulk.  That was too massive a change to sustain the dreamscape, and I woke up almost instantly after the transformation.
Yes, it was awesome.

I learned after experimenting that to stay in the dream, only subtle changes can be manifested. The world can’t be shoved, only nudged.

Complete bodily alteration was far too much, but suddenly finding a pistol in my belt, or knowing my car with the keys in the ignition is waiting outside this unlocked door here, are fair game.

With this ability, one would think the story generation abilities of my subconscious would be a vast and mineable resource.

However, I still have dreams like this:

I’m having dinner with my family and a bunch of others. We were invited to dine atop a square, mostly featureless building, with a small spiral staircase at the center, leading down into the structure.

How we got there is unexplained, because the dream starts in medias res. This is because my subconscious is not only highly cinematic, but also highly lazy.

My sister gets fed up with the mystery of how we got there, and decides to walk down the stairs to the bottom of the building.

Every floor she passes reveals another level visible below her. When I realize she has already passed lower than the height of the building should allow, I run down to call her, and walk her back up.

We both instinctively know, without being able to see the bottom, that there are 666 floors of steps.  Several flights below our location, we can see one of the organizers? caterers? whatever, continuing to descend below us.

As he fades from view we can just make out what appear to be a tail and horns growing out of him. We reach the top and go back to eating, because, “Hey! Free Lunch!”

Suddenly, all the men, me included, freak out and writhe in agony.  We start sprouting tails, reddish furry complexions, two toed feet, and pointed ears (which may have looked like horns in the dark.)

The guy who walked down below us rises up, floating ominously up the center of the staircase, from the depth of the building while everyone screams about demons and devils.

He’s dramatically revealed to be a Kangaroo from outer space on a shiny hover platform, festooned with all manner of blinking lights.

This one was so stupid; I woke up even before the “Dun Dun DUUUUUUUNNN!!!!”




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