Dreamlog: Backpack Balloon
I am flying, in Brazil. I have a backpack flight device of some kind: I think it is a balloon plus some kind of propulsion mechanism. I pull the lever to go up, down or move. It is slow like a balloon; movements takes several seconds to react and I have to watch out for shifting winds. But it is otherwise quite safe.
The flying is easy. The hard part is avoiding the power lines. I skim one by metres and there is a high-voltage arc; fortunately it misses me.
Dreamlog: Yellow Slugs
I am in a house much like my childhood home. It's night. Across the linoleum floor a strange species of yellow slugs are crawling: they are the size of Twinkies and look square as if they are made from sponge rubber. I have the impression that the slime they exude is actually antibacterial floor polish and the things are cleaning the floor for me.
My neighbour comes in to say there's an infestation of them all around. She's a bit spooked by them, but I don't think they mean us any harm. Perhaps it's the result of a genetic industrial accident somewhere. Or perhaps ecosystem change has made this species seek out a new habitat, our dirty kitchen floors. It could be the start of a beautiful partnership.
Later I am in the same house, and it's been bought by new owners, a rich retired couple. They've remodelled extensively, removing walls and making it a second holiday home. The bathroom has a designer full-length window and the bedroom next to it is a fashionable changing room; the hallway is gone completely; the living room and bedroom are now one studio space. The whole house seems to have moved too, out into the country.
Dreamlog: Burning Africa
My brother and I are on the run from the Conspiracy. I have to pack up my college dorm room and disappear. I've learned too much about a dangerous technology. The military is moving in.
I have some kind of air vehicle: like a helicopter, I hover above the curve of the Earth and can look down through a transparent bubble as if I'm just sitting there. I know the craft as if it is my own. I must be hundreds of miles up, though it doesn't strike me as odd that I'm so high. I hear the military reports. A war is in progress, or is it a game?
There is a space-based bomb which is more powerful than atomic weapons. Something strange occurs. Despite vowing never to do so, I push the button to release it; just to find out what happens, or because I know it's not real? The explosive cloud rolls over the curve of Africa: not just a mushroom, but a single rolling continent-sized cloud, brown like dust, taking minutes to come over the horizon. The rumble and thunder of it comes up through the atmosphere to me, deep bass. It is the single most devastating thing I've seen. Now I really am the global terrorist they think I am.
What have I done?
But later I realise, indeed it wasn't real.
Dreamlog: Going Flatfold
A wild sprawling dream.
I am explaining Infinite Crisis and the Crisis on Infinite Earths to someone. "DC Comics had a problem in the 1980s... they had multiple versions of Superman from the 1930s, 1940s, 1950s..." Superboy-Prime becomes part of the onstage story. He's not nearly as bad as the crossovers made him out to be. There is a war across realities and dimensions. In the middle of it, I watch Youtube and GPS tracks.
The final scene: the war is over and the dimensions have been saved. A young man and his dog prepare to be warped back home. The dog has done this before; the man hasn't. The watchers open the spacetime portal: the manifold is shaped like an elongated doughnut, translucent white curves, the inner vortex 'hole' the width of a human bdoy elongated about a metre above the ground, several metres long, with the enclosing shroud three or four times its size. Riding it is like catching a wave, easy when you know how. The man is a little apprehensive. A timer is ticking, the launch window measured in seconds. Some kind of electronic apparatus keeps it open. "Go, go!" The dog goes first, catching the vortex and vanishing. The man steps forward, tilts his body forward. It tickles, the wave catches. There is a mental trick to it. "Relax, we've got you." Pop! He's through and the manifold collapses. Home sweet.
They call it "going flatfold" when the manifold goes flat; it means going home, landing, touching down, dropping out of hyperspace. Mission accomplished.
Dreamlog: Shot in the Arm
I am running down dark streets and alleys. Someone, a friend who I had trusted, pulls a gun on me and shoots. The bullet hits in my right arm. I fall. But it is a strange bullet, large and made of brass, the size of a syringe. It has wounded me only lightly. The figure tells me that the bullet is innoculated with a bacteria which will infect me and that I need to get to a hospital; the infection can be dealt with in time and will protect me from something worse. I realise a complex triple-cross is in process; factions within factions.
Dreamlog: Bending
A fun one.
Something new has happened at church. The ability to bend and shape matter as if it were fabric or clay has appeared. It surfaces in prayer meetings and can be 'caught' from people who have it. I'm fascinated by it. I can put my hands on anything and like Uri Geller, 'bend' it. Plastic or wood flows underneath our fingers as if being literally reweaved at a cellular level. It takes new forms based on our imaginations; this is a new art form, a new science. It's easy to learn how but the possibilities are endless.
I walk home by the river thinking dazedly, This changes everything.
Dreamlog: Dancing Pizza Boxes
A fragment from the very end of a much longer dream.
A scene from a film. A genie has made a deal with Bruce Willis to fulfill his single greatest desire. Bruce gets...
a lifetime supply of pizza.
Delivered by dancing pizza boxes, up the stairs in his apartment. Which don't show up on camera - though he tries, and ends up with a blurry snapshot of himself and an empty room.
Look, don't ask me, I don't make these things up, I just dream them.
Previously in the same dream:
I am working at or managing some kind of festival or market. I don't particularly want to do it but I've made promises. A friend of mine is very keen on a new product which will revolutionise health food: a frozen organic TV dinner.
Dreamlog: Two Space Dreams
Two space dreams:
1. I am going to be flying on/piloting an experimental space shuttle type craft. For some reason I have to take an ordinary airline flight to get to the space station. I have to convince the airport check-in clerks of my identity. Once I get onto the ship I start the separation process. I think we're going to the Moon but it's all a bit low-budget.
2. I am in a team exploring an 'off-world platform' which seems to be just a building on a hillside. There are teleporters in the rooms which lead to other worlds.
Dreamlog: Miss Havisham
I am in my old house, or what passes for it; two stories with a stair. We are about to have a visitor, my nephew. I walk into the ground-floor bathroom and when my hand touches the tap there is an electrical or sonic buzz and I am immobilised. Not electrical, I think in the dream, since I don't feel any pain from the current. But it is annoying.
My annoyance turns to menace when the nephew arrives, and I realise that the buzzer was his practical-joke device, which he has just bought from the store, and that somehow this could become dangerous. He chases me upstairs, into my bedroom. I'm going to fight back with some devices of my own. There is a struggle for control at the door. He's winning so I scream bloody murder for my parents.
Reality 'pops' upwards and I am looking at this as chapter two of a comic serial version of a Charles Dickens story. It is nineteenth century London, the house is a brick tenement, and we are leaving due to financial problems. In the story I go on to work for 'Miss Havisham' -- but not, it is understood, the one from Great Expectations but a similarly-named character who is a young secretary possibly involved in espionage.
Later in a second dream I am partially lucid. I walk through a city noticing how the skyline seems similar to other dreams I have been in and wondering if it is a real place. I intend to catch the rest of this dream but other than this thought it fades almost completely.
Dreamlog: Airport Spy, Ghost News, Sink Oil Filter
I've been trialling logging my dreams on Sawlogs.net. It's fun but I think I need to keep a backup of my data, so I'll relog them here. Social Web: Not Done Yet.
Wordpress doesn't seem to want to backdate permalinks properly so...
Sink Oil Filter
2009-10-03
I am staying with my parents in an old house with strange plumbing. It's night. Something is broken in the water system and we are trying to track it down. I look in one of the rooms; there's what seems to be a kitchen sink fitted with a motor oil filter. The filter comes out easily enough - it's made of white plastic about six inches long and an inch round - and the oil inside is a brown sludge. I know I need to change it but I'm confused as to how. The sink is full of water and there seems to be two separate oil supply and drain lines as well as a drum of fresh oil in the room. The more I fiddle with it the more it looks like I'm just messing it up. Guiltily I try to put the thing back the way I found it and hope my Dad discovers it in the morning.
Ghost News
2009-10-02
It's late afternoon. A fair or festival of some kind has come to town. I am trying to get in before it closes, but I didn't buy a ticket. I try to fake my way past the door by finding old tickets from my wallet, but they don't work.
Later, it's evening. I and some friends are taking shelter in an old wooden cabin-type structure up in the hills. There are multiple rooms full of junk left from a long time ago. At least one of us has been here before and warns us that we need to be prepared. Strange ghost-like people are coming up the hill and we can't keep them out but must interact with them only in certain carefully-defined ways. We need to each tear off a page from an old newspaper and give this to a ghost. That way their hunger will be satisfied for the night and they won't kill us.
The ghosts arrive and we greet them formally and give them their news pages. They stick around and seem to make quite good conversationalists. I begin to wonder if we weren't just prejudiced.
Airport Spy
2009-09-26
I am with friends (or family) in an airport, about to take a flight. We meet a woman who is some kind of spy or secret agent. A chase occurs through airport and plane as we escape with her from 'the conspiracy'. We finally arrive at Nelson.
Pieces are missing. Afterwards, it feels as if the dream shares similar features with other dreams in the 'airport' or 'old house' dreamscapes.
I love dreams. Reading back through my journal for the last couple of years, they're really vivid. I'm glad they keep coming, I just wish I could remember more.
