Lucid Remnants' Journal

Subject:	Upon request
Posted by:	wintershadows.
Time:	3:26 pm.
Mood:	well enough.

So, apparently people enjoy my dreams and writing so I'm posting this copy for ya. Along with the original post that is the beginning.--->
2.23.03: Anyway, the past two nights my brain has conjured the oddest dreams and I've not a clue as to what they mean... if anything at all. *sighs* I don't quite remember the sequence of events, but I'll do my best to relay them for my benefit.
Last night's main gist delt with, erm, boxing?
Edit 3-1:
I found myself standing in clear, grassy meadow with a shallow man-made pool dead center… the area wasn’t quite open because it boasted an air of enclosure, as though near translucent plaster walls created a room in which we all stood, although bright as daylight despite it. There were a few boys/men and a few young girls accompanying me, learning boxing under the instruction of some familiar friend, a combination of Markus and Clay (my tumbling coach and camp director). We appeared to be boarding in a summer camp fashion… All I remember is that we would be “outside” practicing whatever was being taught to us in the way of hand-to-hand combat (lacking the gloves associated with boxing) and conversing amongst ourselves when strangers, younger than us, arrive and we would escort them out of our special hideaway because they weren’t welcome to stay for the lessons. I suppose this dream occurred in the space of several weeks due to the fact that the lighting would change and so my sense of time would differ, but later on I recall myself standing precariously on the edge of the pool, back turned to the opposite side (and my view as well, it switched from 1st person the 3rd person perspectives), scantily covered by a navy blue, one-piece swim suit, as I tentatively dove backwards into the crystal water several successive times. (I’ve always been cautious of leaping backwards into anything… especially water. I once did a back flip off a diving board and was so close I knocked my forehead on its hard surface.) With each dive I became more emboldened and arched them higher and higher until they became full fledged tucks. I could feel the slick sandstone rim beneath my wriggling toes and the water gliding over my smooth skin as I submerged myself. And each time I would happily emerge, drenched and ready to plummet again, hands groping for the ledge and hauling limbs up and over. It was dusk, you could tell by the quickly darkening skies and the sheen over our surroundings. Someone asked why I was doing this as I erupted from the water for the final time.
Taken from my LJ-I ran across this while attempting to clean out my computer's files... the ending of a dream I had quite a while back, if you'll note the date at the end. I don't believe I ever posted this and I don't feel like posting the beginning either, but I know the title of the entry if you're really interested: "Just a few things..." 2-23-2003.
(Continuance) A man in camouflage appears from nowhere to take shelter among the shadows of the buildings and shrubbery clasping one of those old fashioned 18th century rifles with the sword tip extending from it (which I later identified as a bayonet). He was near the pool I was treading in, flashing about his weapon. He caused quite a commotion, striking fear in every innocent bystanders’ heart, as people scrambled for shelter he took aim and began launching bullets… I remember the hovering body of a child, floating effortlessly towards me, her blood tainting the pool in tiny eddies like oil in water; a mother’s screams from amid the water, I took refuge in the corner end of the mass body of it, squirming in its depths willing myself to stay under…

analyze this dream.

Subject:	"What Dreams May Come"
Posted by:	wintershadows.
Time:	2:02 pm.
Mood:	curious.

(Sorry for the hijacked title, I'm not very original these days...)
Due to the incessant annoyance of my kitten throughout the first few hours of my sleep, I don't recall much of the origins of this particular dream...
At any rate, I don't remember the sequence of events either, just bits and pieces...
In fact, all I remember is the last racing seconds/minutes.
I had stolen this tiny black artifact from the throat of a [sleeping or dead?] soldier; I guess... it might actually have been from the dragon himself, that part's hazy. I turned the object over in the palm of my hands; it resembled nothing I've ever seen before, just two bits of black, hard plastic (hardly appropriate for the times), one slightly larger than the other, with stiff silver wiring... intended to offer immunity to fire.
I remember being amongst green hills as far as the eye could see, but it didn't make sense... the dream (or the dragon) was dark and sinister, however the scenery was brighter than day... an ethereal glow almost.
Well, apparently I had roasted our friend dragon here, for he was out with a vengeance on me... And, about the dragon? you ask... this dragon is not your typical single-minded being... more than single-minded in that he had a profuse amount of heads to account for. Not to mention, dragons are usually the ones doing to burning... I found that I was creating history by depleting our friend's head count and, for an instant, thought of Hercules.
Then we were in my room, the dragon's snide form immobilized on my bed; odd how my cramped room contained such a monstrous beast and yet seemed spacious all at once... the dragon still had that looming effect over me, but my room was the same size as ever, if smaller even... I could skirt around him in a matter of strides and yet his frame was at least ten times that of mine. His various appendages were scorched beyond recognition, only 2 heads remained in tact... the predominant one leered and taunted me in English, his whole stature had almost a humanly appeal; man... but not man. Nor was he any color I'd ever seen upon a dragon... though the explanation for that is such: a coded map of sorts sat at my bedside table, of which projected coded colors onto us... I've no idea the symbolic meaning behind them as I don't recall ever reading over the map key... but I remember seeing lots of yellow and purple... particularly [yellow] on his protruding neck and head spouting jeers at me and the [purple] matches I clutched within my fingers (3 to be exact).
There were papier mache figurines scattered across the left wall of my room that were obviously important because I had snatched them up and raced out my door to toss them over the balcony at my father... I gather they were pieces of history, records of sorts... one looked rather like a pope, about the size of my head, with a large staff and creamy ceremonial dress with a series of 3 circles settled in the center of the belly of his robes...
All the while I threatened the dragon with striking the matches and burning him alive... The relic I'd retrieved was meant to spare me from the flames... but he didn't know that and had effectively made me forget this detail for my own fear dictated what was left of the dream... my body swam in it and I knew that I would have to burn my room to the ground in order to be sure the dragon was slain. I would have to burn everything in it... I would char my own existence from the books... everything that was me, everything I ever wrote/created/owned would go up in the [cleansing] flames... and I would go with it...
As I awoke, my hands were striking the matches... only then, in the clarity of consciousness, did I realize I wouldn't have burned... because I still had that piece on my person... right?
Or did I?

analyze this dream.

Subject:	a very brady murder
Posted by:	mrgreen.
Time:	10:15 am.

i am Detective Green, of the TV Land P.D. and this is my partner . . . me. we pull up in a brand new Ford model A coupe outside of a particularly large seventies style mansion and park next to a Crown Victoria. inside, me and i find the living room crowded with patrolmen, all dressed like clowns, easily a hundred of them.
"where the hell did all these uniforms come from?" me asks.
"probably all rode here in that new patrol car. i hear they're really roomy," i reply.
blood covers the walls, and the bodies are stacked haphazardly in front of the TV. a quick count tells me everything i need to know.
"there's only eight bodies," i say to the nearest patrolman, "which Brady snapped and killed their family? or was it Alice?" two Bozos with badges on their crotches drag a teenage girl from a back room. her face and hair are sticky with blood, but her clothes look immaculate. her eyes are wild, and she smells distinctly of crazy.
"marcia, marcia, marcia . . . after everything this family has done for you, how could you murder them all? how could you destroy the Brady Bunch?"
"fuck you, copper, i ain't saying nothing 'til i see the judge, you got nothing . . . there is no Brady Bunch!!" Ray Liotta's voice coming out of that young girls mouth is almost, but not quite, completely unexpected. most of my murder suspects sound like Al Pacino.
"she may be right, sir," says Krusty from across the room. he is examining the bodies, taking photographs with a digital camera, then getting online and selling them to tabloids. "not one of these bodies has a Brady Bone. of course, i'm still trying to figure out which body this little tiny leg goes to."

1 psychological response | analyze this dream.

Subject:	just now
Posted by:	mrgreen.
Time:	9:32 pm.
Mood:	confused.

where am i? i was at home, but i can't remember where that is, or what it looks like, or much before i found myself where i was. i'm at someone's house, someone who has some reason not to like me?, but it seems like they don't care that i'm there . . . i find a door, and inside is a girl, a slim Adrianne/Tara/Kellie mix who are those people? and i cry to her, because i can't remember anything, because nothing is making any sense. we make love, but it is disjointed and awkward, because i can't even remember what i am doing. we are outside, running past the back wall of the house. was it so big from the inside? it goes on forever here . . . and there are people, more like the one who doesn't like me, lots of them, playing out in the dark field. we stick to the shadows, hand in hand, trying not to get caught, when the football they who are they? are playing with bounces and lands in front of us. "GO!" she screams. who is she? and i run. but they surround me, so the only way is through. are they all wearing football pads? i realize that i have the ball in my hands, and i make Michael Irvin who? look like a fucking uncoordinated child as i bounce, and duck, and weave, and leap over what seems like thousands of defenders. i who am i? break free, and i realize that i'm not holding the ball, i am holding her, and she wraps her arms around me, and we are . . . somewhere, but i can hardly remember where we just were, or what was happening there, or who she is, except that she looks more like Kellie now, and in the real world, the phone rings . . .

analyze this dream.

Subject:	Race Cars.
Posted by:	wintershadows.
Time:	11:22 am.
Mood:	curious.

"That's why they call it a maze...", the female voice floated into the wind as the colorful aero dynamic car slid down the runway into the mass of track someone had created; death defying spirals and crossways where thousands of other tiny cars sped by... it was like one of those Hot Wheels toy raceways... the vision slid by as the car consumed the roadway, like a camera zooming out of focus, slowly loosing its subject in the surrounding life... soon the track became blinding pinpoints of lights blurring in their endless motion of circling the setup... I was the onlooker, the observer of their fate... they were being tested... if they did not move on then I would remain where I was... lost in time, in space... wherever I was... the vision slid further and further from my eyes as the raceway became a tiny spec among a glaxacy of raceways... there were suddenly millions upon millions of identical tracks lacing the black velvet of space... millions of pinpricks of pure white lights racing against time through their puzzlement of test...
And then I was standing in a dimly lit, golden glowing room... but if it was furnished all I was able to see, or sense were the enclosing beige walls and the presence of a speaker... male, not female.
I don't recall what he said to me.... all I remember is looking down at my shirt, my orange shirt, tugging it out from my body and seeing the tiny knuckle-sized cars on the edging of it...

analyze this dream.

Subject:	ok, yes, i am having nightmares
Posted by:	mrgreen.
Time:	12:57 pm.

there is somewhere i need to be . . . NOW! the urge to get there is so strong and sudden that i feel like i am going to explode.
where? you know where
no, i don't! doesn't matter anyway, just go
why? you must
why?
no reply this time, only music . . . at least a dozen songs songs all at once, and one phrase between that keeps repeating and repeating until it seems like a chant . . .just one fix. . .
and i run . . . towards . . . something . . . down a long, empty street drowned in darkness
in small pools of light, they are all there, everyone, all of them . . . except . . .
those that i would never wish to see again are ignored as i run, those i have missed recieve a smile, a wave. my grandmother's office is a beacon of light on the dark road i am running, and i have to see her . . . but i don't go in, it doesn't feel right somehow . . .
the urge is getting stronger, and i am running faster, and faster, being pulled towards this place, this thing (it feels alive)
and suddenly, the road stops, deadends at a crossroads. and the urge is gone.
from one side wafts that pungent aroma of hydriotic acid, from the other, prfume, hard to place . . . but i can not see for very far down either path . . .
a sudden heat from behind and i turn to see a raging inferno tearing after medown the dark street.
which way now?

analyze this dream.

Posted by:	mrgreen.
Time:	10:44 pm.

the colors excite, the sounds (screams?) soothe, but the feeling . . .

nothing, i feel nothing, not physical, not emotional, i am just floating in this riot of colors and noise.
for a moment, it is the bathroom in my old apartment, and the walls are red, the carpet is black, the camp stove is burning, and yellow smoke is billowing out of the bottle.
for a moment, it is Side Pocket, but all the tables are green, and the felt is black; the Budweiser in my hand is upside down, but nothing is spilling out.
for a moment, it is just the whirlwind again.
for a moment, i see a piece of notebook paper, white with blue stripes, then blue with white stripes. words begin to appear in green, but i can't read them.
for a moment, everything is red, but where i am and what i am seeing is a unfamiliar to me.

suddenly, everything clears, and i am sitting in a chair. not sitting, struggling. i am strapped in, with metal bands across my ankles, my thighs, my torso, my neck, and my forehead. there is a blinding light shining in my face, and three men standing around me.
the gaurd on my left, anthony, i know him. i've known him ever since i came to this place . . . he would sit on the other side of my door in the middle of the night (day? so hard to tell in this place) and listen to me talk about my pride, my love, my drive, and my crime. he would whisper quietly about his daughter, and how much he loved his wife, and how he was working on his car. sometimes he would ask me why i had done something like that thing which had put me in my windowless cell. and i had no answer for him.
i had never seen his face before, but the look in the eyes was as fearless and yet kind as i knew anthony was. it had to be him, but, was he crying?
on my right, the doctor. or the medical technician . . . do you even need training to do this? what kind of sick fuck could do this for a job? showing a complete lack of tact (and taste), he is dressed in black scrubs. a small syringe in his hand squirts out a thick, clear liquid . . . hmmmm . . . i wonder if that is . . . no, it couldn't be . . .
look at him, he doesn't even have the decency to look excited, or sad, or sick, or anything at all . . . he acts like i feel: blank.
it's the suit in the middle that shocks me out of nothingness. is that her? in a suit? damn, she looks good . . . now i remember why i would have left that little redhead i thought i loved: for her, if she had only asked . . . but what is she doing here?
her green eyes are brimmed with tears, and she holds a single paper notecard in front of her like it is a snake.
"ryan taurant, for the crimes of . . .blah, blah, blah . . . the United States government hereby sentences you death by lethal injection," she breaks into tears, sobbing heavily, "may . . . may . . ." her sobs override her, and she collapses onto the floor. my heart screams out to her, i scream out to her, and she turns away . . .
"may god have mercy on your soul, brother," anthony says, reaching forward to grasp my hand as the doctor (technician, no man of medicine would stand for this) steps forward and plunges the needle into my forearm. when a register shows that he has missed, i begin laughing.
more to the right, asshole, and not so deep
the look of inceduility on his face sends me laughing all the way down into darkness . . .

and back to the colors, and the screams . . . and the feeling . . .

2 psychological responses | analyze this dream.

Subject:	(Wendy)clear on until morning
Posted by:	mrgreen.
Time:	9:01 am.
Mood:	frustrated.

I am running, and running . . . my lungs are not even moving, and my heart is not even beating, but i am running as fast and as hard as i can from some terrible horror that is right on my heels.
run . . .
can't stop . . .
run faster . . .
don't fall . . .
and suddenly, i just don't feel like running anymore.
so i stop.
and when i turn around, there she is. In all her angry little Puerto Rican glory, she is just standing there.
this is what i was running from?

2 psychological responses | analyze this dream.

Subject:	First One
Time:	3:05 pm.
Mood:	accomplished.

I'll make this make sense in just a little while - wanted to get it online first.

sm black - shy lg white - sweater doggie poodles

on corner next to apts
me on bicycle coming hom. i'm saying hi.
2 cars come towards me, turning onto forest mesa, from steck coming from apts
i make the 1st slow down to avoid animals - he waves in acknowledgment
2nd car disappears? animals dogs cats birds
lots of them, i hear banging - car is driving on
rough road =- construction but looks like he is
aiming for tanimals there too. i say asshole and
turn to go home. GUNSHOT + green parrot flies toward face
when i turn

i'jm home
guys running around "GUNSHOTS!" thye're scared and want to look out windows
i convince them to go outside w/me smoke cig - new pack
old women fleeing scene w/ their animals.
i ask "did they get them?" they say "yes" and i wake up

2 psychological responses | analyze this dream.