February 19, 2016
I'm in a lush hotel room with my wife's lover and his billionaire family. The room is filled with large, velvet sofas and wing-back chairs; the velvet is blood red. I'm anxious about my wife spending the night in her lover's room. I get a clear sense from her that she still loves me and I have a chance of preventing the consumation of her relationship with this man. I'm convinced that if my parents were to die, this would distract her away from him. So I try to find a phone--my plan is to call my folks and fake their deaths. But I never reach them.
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Friday, March 7, 2014
March 4th, 2014: In Ukraine
I am in Ukraine, possibly Kiev.
A young, female college student from the U.S. is speaking to the Ukrainian people. She says, "You must fight against this aggression, even if it means your defeat. If you resist now, you'll be remembered forever for having done the right thing." She's not very inspiring and has that idealism so common in undergrads.
I am now in a shopping mall in Ukraine. Protesters in dirty clothes mill about. Water runs down the walls in several places. The walls are stained a dark, reddish brown where the water runs down them. The place is a ruin, but was clearly once a popular and trendy place.
February 5th, 2014: Exploding Eagles
The sky is overcast.
High tension wires stretch across my view of the gray-white sheet of sky overhead.
A Bald Eagle flies toward the point where one high tension wire connects to a tower. The wire is looped just after the clamp that holds it taut. The eagle flies into the loop and explodes in a blinding flash of metallic white. A few singed feather parts fall from the scene.
Another eagle meets the same fate.
And another.
Thomas Edison appears in the sky--only from the shoulders up. He's enormous. An over voice tells the history of the exploding eagles and how Edison saved them by creating a new coil that did not harm them when they flew into it.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
January 28th, 2014
I'm in a kitchen.
It's long and narrow. The style is 70s: fake brick walls.
May aunt is kneading dough. She has two clumps: one is white and gelatinous, the other looks like regular bread dough.
I ask her what she's doing and she explains she's making bread with deer fat. The white, gelatinous clump is the deer fat. She's making deer fat bread from a deer my cousin (her son) recently hunted down.
I look to my left. I can see into the living room. The deer is sprawled out on the couch--its hind legs stretched back. It's breathing rapidly. I see a wound on its right side--the wound is oozing a dark red/brown fluid.
My cousin enters the living room (where I am now standing), rubbing lotion into his hands. I ask him, "How long before you can kill the deer?" I feel horribly sad for the beast.
"Soon, but I gotta' keep 'em alive for now. I get the best juice out of 'em when they're still alive."
Suddenly the deer lurches to its feet and hobbles toward me. It continues on into the kitchen. I feel very strongly that this deer needs to be put out of its misery.
It's long and narrow. The style is 70s: fake brick walls.
May aunt is kneading dough. She has two clumps: one is white and gelatinous, the other looks like regular bread dough.
I ask her what she's doing and she explains she's making bread with deer fat. The white, gelatinous clump is the deer fat. She's making deer fat bread from a deer my cousin (her son) recently hunted down.
I look to my left. I can see into the living room. The deer is sprawled out on the couch--its hind legs stretched back. It's breathing rapidly. I see a wound on its right side--the wound is oozing a dark red/brown fluid.
My cousin enters the living room (where I am now standing), rubbing lotion into his hands. I ask him, "How long before you can kill the deer?" I feel horribly sad for the beast.
"Soon, but I gotta' keep 'em alive for now. I get the best juice out of 'em when they're still alive."
Suddenly the deer lurches to its feet and hobbles toward me. It continues on into the kitchen. I feel very strongly that this deer needs to be put out of its misery.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
January 3, 2014
I am at the Cherry Hill Mall in NJ. The mall has been merged with a hospital. I am walking through a large, open atrium; the floor is covered in white tile. As I near a section of offices, I leave the atrium and enter a hallway that is still quite large. Cobalt blue and white tiles cover the floor now. As I pass an office with an open door (on my left), a man inside beckons me to come in. He is wearing a light brown suit, and appears to be in his late sixties or early seventies. His skin has a light yellow tinge, he is slightly overweight, and his hair is a small white, untrimmed shrub. He and I discuss my job / career. I tell him about some of my frustrations and he encourages me to ignore what is not important, but to be true to myself. The phone rings and he answers it. He has a booming voice. I move to get up, but he gestures for me to stay. When he hangs up the phone, we discuss a few more things and then I leave.
In the hallway, I see a sign with symbols for male and female restrooms. I walk to the end of the hallway, where another hallway runs perpendicular to the one I was just in. Directly ahead of me, and extending the length of the new hallway, are enormous windows that let in a blinding amount of light. I'm still looking for the restroom, though. I turn back into the previous hallway and see a person open a door that has a special lock on it (one that requires a pass-card). I grab the door just before it closes and enter the room. This is the restroom I've been looking for...
I'm now walking through a new section of the facility. In a bright, large room I see a professor who has been working with my wife on a book on Langston Hughes. He seems preoccupied and when I approach him, he looks at me with squinted eyes and wrinkled brow, "I don't have time right now. Let's talk another day," he says and passes.
I am now in the hospital wing, which is also open and very bright. I want to leave, but for some reason I head toward the elevators. There is an open space where the elevators should be. There are several large squares of cobalt blue tiles arranged in rows on the floor. I step onto one. A black man steps partially onto the same square. The square begins moving down and the man becomes confused. The square stops moving and a person in a white gown approaches and asks us if we know how to ride in an elevator. The black man laughs and says something about this being unlike any elevator he's ever seen. The white-gowned person helps him to get onto the platform with me, and the elevator continues to move down...
I am leaving the hospital wing and headed back through the hallway with offices. As I pass the brown-suited man's office, he gestures for me to come in. When I enter, he holds up a multi-colored bathrobe that belongs to me. He wants to return it to me. I also ask him if it would be okay for us to chat some more. He says, "Sure. How about over a drink?" I agree to meet him in the cafeteria, which is in the large atrium.
In the atrium, I find a cafeteria sectioned off by ropes. An awning covers part of the seating area, which consists of round tables and chairs. I order a pizza for myself and join the man in the brown suit. He has my robe and returns it to me.
In the hallway, I see a sign with symbols for male and female restrooms. I walk to the end of the hallway, where another hallway runs perpendicular to the one I was just in. Directly ahead of me, and extending the length of the new hallway, are enormous windows that let in a blinding amount of light. I'm still looking for the restroom, though. I turn back into the previous hallway and see a person open a door that has a special lock on it (one that requires a pass-card). I grab the door just before it closes and enter the room. This is the restroom I've been looking for...
I'm now walking through a new section of the facility. In a bright, large room I see a professor who has been working with my wife on a book on Langston Hughes. He seems preoccupied and when I approach him, he looks at me with squinted eyes and wrinkled brow, "I don't have time right now. Let's talk another day," he says and passes.
I am now in the hospital wing, which is also open and very bright. I want to leave, but for some reason I head toward the elevators. There is an open space where the elevators should be. There are several large squares of cobalt blue tiles arranged in rows on the floor. I step onto one. A black man steps partially onto the same square. The square begins moving down and the man becomes confused. The square stops moving and a person in a white gown approaches and asks us if we know how to ride in an elevator. The black man laughs and says something about this being unlike any elevator he's ever seen. The white-gowned person helps him to get onto the platform with me, and the elevator continues to move down...
I am leaving the hospital wing and headed back through the hallway with offices. As I pass the brown-suited man's office, he gestures for me to come in. When I enter, he holds up a multi-colored bathrobe that belongs to me. He wants to return it to me. I also ask him if it would be okay for us to chat some more. He says, "Sure. How about over a drink?" I agree to meet him in the cafeteria, which is in the large atrium.
In the atrium, I find a cafeteria sectioned off by ropes. An awning covers part of the seating area, which consists of round tables and chairs. I order a pizza for myself and join the man in the brown suit. He has my robe and returns it to me.
January 1, 2014 (first dream of the new year)
I'm in a nondescript room looking in a mirror. Several large blisters are clustered on my left cheek; six large abscesses are aligned in two neat rows on my right cheek. Other people are with me--I do not recognize them, but they are there to comfort me and prepare me for the public (for the day). I apply a white ointment to my face and the people in the room with me reassure me everything will be fine.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
May 27th, 2013
Living in cramped quarters with hundreds (perhaps thousands) of refugees. We reside in a tall building, probably 30 stories high. At first, it is not clear to me from where we are seeking refuge. As the days pass, we sense that the folks who live on the upper floors (where there are far fewer people and therefore much more space) are conspiring against us.
One day, some folks from the top floors come through the lower floors and force us to leave our possessions and our tiny homes (some of which are in the stairwells). When we resist, they become brutal toward us, shoving, pushing, and beating us forward, up the stairs to the top floors.
When we reach the upper floors, it becomes clear that the folks who live there are holding us captive. I approach one man who is dressed in a gray business suit. He appears uneasy in our presence. I begin shouting at him and he cowers, putting his arms over his head as if to ward off my blows--though I'm not hitting him. I believe he is trying to deny that his people are holding the rest of us captive, and so I shout the truth at him and he seems deeply disturbed.
Others come to his rescue--they pull me away from him.
A person from the lower floors approaches me and shows me how to sneak out of the building. Once outside, we find ourselves in a Chinese marketplace. There, I learn that the year is 1966, that we're Jewish prisoners held by Nazis who escaped at the end of WWII. No one knows we're being held in a skyscraper.
Suddenly I am inside a pure white room in nearby building. I am not physically present, but I am able to view what's happening as though I am in the room.
A black man appears. He's dressed in a button-down yellow shirt and a black tie. He sits at a bright white table and plugs in his laptop. A sign on the table reads, "World News." Other journalists appear and sit at other tables in the room.
One begins talking to the group about how he suspects that a band of Nazis are holding a large group of Jews captive. The others point out how crazy that sounds, but he is undeterred and simply says he needs to find evidence.
At that point I realize we'll be saved.
Living in cramped quarters with hundreds (perhaps thousands) of refugees. We reside in a tall building, probably 30 stories high. At first, it is not clear to me from where we are seeking refuge. As the days pass, we sense that the folks who live on the upper floors (where there are far fewer people and therefore much more space) are conspiring against us.
One day, some folks from the top floors come through the lower floors and force us to leave our possessions and our tiny homes (some of which are in the stairwells). When we resist, they become brutal toward us, shoving, pushing, and beating us forward, up the stairs to the top floors.
When we reach the upper floors, it becomes clear that the folks who live there are holding us captive. I approach one man who is dressed in a gray business suit. He appears uneasy in our presence. I begin shouting at him and he cowers, putting his arms over his head as if to ward off my blows--though I'm not hitting him. I believe he is trying to deny that his people are holding the rest of us captive, and so I shout the truth at him and he seems deeply disturbed.
Others come to his rescue--they pull me away from him.
A person from the lower floors approaches me and shows me how to sneak out of the building. Once outside, we find ourselves in a Chinese marketplace. There, I learn that the year is 1966, that we're Jewish prisoners held by Nazis who escaped at the end of WWII. No one knows we're being held in a skyscraper.
Suddenly I am inside a pure white room in nearby building. I am not physically present, but I am able to view what's happening as though I am in the room.
A black man appears. He's dressed in a button-down yellow shirt and a black tie. He sits at a bright white table and plugs in his laptop. A sign on the table reads, "World News." Other journalists appear and sit at other tables in the room.
One begins talking to the group about how he suspects that a band of Nazis are holding a large group of Jews captive. The others point out how crazy that sounds, but he is undeterred and simply says he needs to find evidence.
At that point I realize we'll be saved.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Saturday, May 18th, 2013
I'm on one of the top floors in the new World Trade Center tower: One World Trade Center.
It is daytime and I can see the city below. One part section of windows is missing. I approach, lose my balance, and fall over the edge. I quickly grab the floor, which is uneven and difficult to grasp. I keep slipping and having to readjust my grip. Someone grabs me and pulls me back to safety. I still feel that the floor is sloped in the direction of the window and I can slide out anytime.
A tour guide is explaining some of the features of the new building, which is quite beautiful. We move into another section of the floor. It appears unfinished and the tour guide explains there was not enough money to finish the project. The room is large and empty, with ugly marble floors that are wet. I feel as though I'm in a dirty public restroom.
We leave that space and find a small TV (not flat-screen, but an old fashioned tube model) suspended over narrow, carpeted steps--the setup reminds me of stadium seating at a movie theater, except that only one person can fit on each level. On screen is an old film (from the 70s or 80s) I think I recognize. The main character is played by Robert De Niro. De Niro has long black hair and looks to be about the age he was when he filmed Taxi Driver. He's with a group of guys in their early twenties. They're hanging around heckling each other. I seem to know the words and I laugh with the crowd standing around me.
It is daytime and I can see the city below. One part section of windows is missing. I approach, lose my balance, and fall over the edge. I quickly grab the floor, which is uneven and difficult to grasp. I keep slipping and having to readjust my grip. Someone grabs me and pulls me back to safety. I still feel that the floor is sloped in the direction of the window and I can slide out anytime.
A tour guide is explaining some of the features of the new building, which is quite beautiful. We move into another section of the floor. It appears unfinished and the tour guide explains there was not enough money to finish the project. The room is large and empty, with ugly marble floors that are wet. I feel as though I'm in a dirty public restroom.
We leave that space and find a small TV (not flat-screen, but an old fashioned tube model) suspended over narrow, carpeted steps--the setup reminds me of stadium seating at a movie theater, except that only one person can fit on each level. On screen is an old film (from the 70s or 80s) I think I recognize. The main character is played by Robert De Niro. De Niro has long black hair and looks to be about the age he was when he filmed Taxi Driver. He's with a group of guys in their early twenties. They're hanging around heckling each other. I seem to know the words and I laugh with the crowd standing around me.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Thursday, April 4, 2013
I am in a factory where cows are being dropped into large vats in which they are liquified. A man who is in his early forties explains to me that this is the real way in which fuel oil is produced (apparently it's not actually drilled out of the ground).
"And we can only use ultra-lean cows. The fat cows...we just have to destroy them. We cannot convert them into oil."
Peering down inside one of the vats, I see various cows in various stages of liquefaction.
I am in a factory where cows are being dropped into large vats in which they are liquified. A man who is in his early forties explains to me that this is the real way in which fuel oil is produced (apparently it's not actually drilled out of the ground).
"And we can only use ultra-lean cows. The fat cows...we just have to destroy them. We cannot convert them into oil."
Peering down inside one of the vats, I see various cows in various stages of liquefaction.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
March 27th, 2013
I sneak into the basement of a mansion. It's a modern structure with lots of straight angles. The basement is large. At one end is a bathhouse--I head there, towel and a change of clothes in hand. As I step inside the bathhouse I notice that the walls are covered with large cedar shingles--the type you would normally find on the exterior of a home. I turn on the water and begin showering. There is white calcification forming on one single; I figure I'll bleach it out later.
As I shower, I grow nervous that the owner of the mansion will catch me here, so I cut the shower short, dry off, and get dressed. As I'm leaving, Dustin Hoffman arrives--it's his home. He's not at all angry and we chat for awhile.
I sneak into the basement of a mansion. It's a modern structure with lots of straight angles. The basement is large. At one end is a bathhouse--I head there, towel and a change of clothes in hand. As I step inside the bathhouse I notice that the walls are covered with large cedar shingles--the type you would normally find on the exterior of a home. I turn on the water and begin showering. There is white calcification forming on one single; I figure I'll bleach it out later.
As I shower, I grow nervous that the owner of the mansion will catch me here, so I cut the shower short, dry off, and get dressed. As I'm leaving, Dustin Hoffman arrives--it's his home. He's not at all angry and we chat for awhile.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Saturday, March 23, 2013
I'm in a field of tall, dead grass. There is an oddly shaped lake nearby and a few, leafless trees grow in various spots around the field. A cow is in the field and I hear a voice tell me, "You must save the cow." In fact, I have the strong feeling that in order to save all humankind, I must save this cow. It's not grazing and the first thing I do is encourage it to eat some of the dead grass. Then I realize it's dehydrated, so I lead it to the lake, where it drinks. The cow suddenly turns into a tall, Mr. Stay Puft marshmallow man (the thing from the Ghostbusters movie), except that instead of being made of marshmallow, it is made of meat--raw, red slabs of meat. The meat giant seems friendly and walks slowly into the water. It dives under the water and swims around like a manatee. I see an alligator swimming toward the meat monster and I jump in to wrestle the alligator away.
I'm in a field of tall, dead grass. There is an oddly shaped lake nearby and a few, leafless trees grow in various spots around the field. A cow is in the field and I hear a voice tell me, "You must save the cow." In fact, I have the strong feeling that in order to save all humankind, I must save this cow. It's not grazing and the first thing I do is encourage it to eat some of the dead grass. Then I realize it's dehydrated, so I lead it to the lake, where it drinks. The cow suddenly turns into a tall, Mr. Stay Puft marshmallow man (the thing from the Ghostbusters movie), except that instead of being made of marshmallow, it is made of meat--raw, red slabs of meat. The meat giant seems friendly and walks slowly into the water. It dives under the water and swims around like a manatee. I see an alligator swimming toward the meat monster and I jump in to wrestle the alligator away.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
I'm in my 18' Precision sailboat. My wife and two friends are with me. It's daytime and we're afloat on an inter-coastal waterway that has thick forests on either side. There are lots of other boaters out. One of my friends asks what our motor looks like and I point to a small, blue electric outboard that looks nothing like our motor. I turn to my wife and tell her, "I forgot the battery." I'm referring to the lithium-ion battery that powers our electric motor. Even so, I get the motor working and we begin zipping along through the waterway (we're not sailing, just motoring around). The water is milky like an eye with a cataract, but the edges are turquoise. The water level begins to drop rapidly. Large masses of mud seem to rise to the surface. I have to do some slick steering to avoid them--and I don't avoid all of them. We skim over one mud mat and I both hear and feel the keel scrape the bottom. I'm worried we'll break the prop on the motor, but it just skims the top of the mud and we continue on. I grow increasingly more worried for the safety of the boat--and its passengers--as the water level drops even more.
I'm in my 18' Precision sailboat. My wife and two friends are with me. It's daytime and we're afloat on an inter-coastal waterway that has thick forests on either side. There are lots of other boaters out. One of my friends asks what our motor looks like and I point to a small, blue electric outboard that looks nothing like our motor. I turn to my wife and tell her, "I forgot the battery." I'm referring to the lithium-ion battery that powers our electric motor. Even so, I get the motor working and we begin zipping along through the waterway (we're not sailing, just motoring around). The water is milky like an eye with a cataract, but the edges are turquoise. The water level begins to drop rapidly. Large masses of mud seem to rise to the surface. I have to do some slick steering to avoid them--and I don't avoid all of them. We skim over one mud mat and I both hear and feel the keel scrape the bottom. I'm worried we'll break the prop on the motor, but it just skims the top of the mud and we continue on. I grow increasingly more worried for the safety of the boat--and its passengers--as the water level drops even more.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
March 11th, 2013
My wife and I are walking on a street in a busy town (could be a suburban-looking part of a city). It's night time and we're strolling along under an overpass. I'm feeling joyous and eating an apple. My wife turns to face me and walks backwards as we continue on our way. She seems very playful. A police cruiser pulls along side us and crawls forward, matching our speed.
I think that the officer is displeased with my wife's carefree attitude, and that he is especially upset by the fact that she's walking backwards. I shrug.
We reach a large, Victorian house where my aunt lives. My wife remains outside for a moment while I go in. I grab a couple of cans of sparkling water and go back out to an empty front lawn. My wife is gone. I look around the hedges, up and down the street, but I see her nowhere in sight.
I'm suddenly panicked, thinking she has been taken by the officer who was following us. I begin shouting her name, each time increasing in volume until I am shrieking her name.
No response.
I think that the officer is displeased with my wife's carefree attitude, and that he is especially upset by the fact that she's walking backwards. I shrug.
We reach a large, Victorian house where my aunt lives. My wife remains outside for a moment while I go in. I grab a couple of cans of sparkling water and go back out to an empty front lawn. My wife is gone. I look around the hedges, up and down the street, but I see her nowhere in sight.
I'm suddenly panicked, thinking she has been taken by the officer who was following us. I begin shouting her name, each time increasing in volume until I am shrieking her name.
No response.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Sunday, February 24, 2013
February 22, 2013
Driving with a friend in a parking lot at a large strip mall.
The lot in front of the store we want to visit has only handicap parking: row after row of blue-lined spaces. I grow frustrated and am tempted to park in one, but decide against it thinking I'd get a ticket.
We park in the adjacent lot in front of Target. This lot is filled with rows of good for sale--reminds me of a flea market. Elderly folks are picking up linens, marveling at them.
Driving with the husband of a friend and his three small children. He sits in the front passenger seat, a small toddler on his lap, two children to his left (both a bit bigger than the one on his lap). He wears a white T-shirt. I've never met him before.
We drive over a bridge from Philly to NJ. As we approach the town where I live, we see two teens, on opposite sides of the street, pointing guns at each other. At first, this makes no sense to me and I continue driving, but suddenly we find ourselves in the middle of a gun fight. I become terrified as bullets whiz past the car, just missing us. The man next to me tells me to back up. I do and we simply drive down a parallel street.
I'm now in the back seat. No idea who is driving, but the man is still in the front passenger seat surrounded by his children. We discuss the gun fight. I lean way over the seat so I an look at him and his children with complete seriousness, "You will raise good children, and that is how we'll have hope for the future."
Driving with a friend in a parking lot at a large strip mall.
The lot in front of the store we want to visit has only handicap parking: row after row of blue-lined spaces. I grow frustrated and am tempted to park in one, but decide against it thinking I'd get a ticket.
We park in the adjacent lot in front of Target. This lot is filled with rows of good for sale--reminds me of a flea market. Elderly folks are picking up linens, marveling at them.
---
Driving with the husband of a friend and his three small children. He sits in the front passenger seat, a small toddler on his lap, two children to his left (both a bit bigger than the one on his lap). He wears a white T-shirt. I've never met him before.
We drive over a bridge from Philly to NJ. As we approach the town where I live, we see two teens, on opposite sides of the street, pointing guns at each other. At first, this makes no sense to me and I continue driving, but suddenly we find ourselves in the middle of a gun fight. I become terrified as bullets whiz past the car, just missing us. The man next to me tells me to back up. I do and we simply drive down a parallel street.
I'm now in the back seat. No idea who is driving, but the man is still in the front passenger seat surrounded by his children. We discuss the gun fight. I lean way over the seat so I an look at him and his children with complete seriousness, "You will raise good children, and that is how we'll have hope for the future."
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Monday, February 4, 2013
February 1st, 2013
I am standing in a field. I walk forward and suddenly fall into a pool I hadn't seen. It's an in-ground pool with cement sides. I fall like a stone and watch the sides of the pool slip past me.
Panic.
Fearful I will drown, I try to stop my rapid descent, but nothing I do slows the pace.
The cement sides of the pool are now gone; replaced by earth and stone. I'm in a subterranean pool that seems to have no bottom. I try to breathe and discover I can in a limited way.
I realized I'm dreaming and try to awaken. My body shakes violently. I've had sleep paralysis in the past. I feel like an etherized patient awakening in the middle of surgery. I sense a force or presence more powerful than me holding me down, preventing me from awakening--which is typical of sleep paralysis.
In college, I fell asleep after a morning class. I opened my eyes about half an hour later, but couldn't move my body. I could only move my eyes. As I scanned the room, I could see the sun on the carpet, my desk and computer, my roommate's desk. I heard the sound of a TV with no reception--often described as "snow" (but I've never heard snow in this way, only the soft flap as it piles up on the ground). I hear sinister laughing and sense an evil presence holding me down. This experience terrified me, but I later learned about sleep paralysis and that these are typical symptoms / experiences. I also learned that such episodes are thought to be the source of reports of alien abduction. Turns out folks who think they were abducted by aliens and probed or operated upon, may have merely been suffering from this sleep disorder. I completely understand how such a mistake could be made. I certainly have never been abducted by aliens (a fact I find quite sad).
I am standing in a field. I walk forward and suddenly fall into a pool I hadn't seen. It's an in-ground pool with cement sides. I fall like a stone and watch the sides of the pool slip past me.
Panic.
Fearful I will drown, I try to stop my rapid descent, but nothing I do slows the pace.
The cement sides of the pool are now gone; replaced by earth and stone. I'm in a subterranean pool that seems to have no bottom. I try to breathe and discover I can in a limited way.
I realized I'm dreaming and try to awaken. My body shakes violently. I've had sleep paralysis in the past. I feel like an etherized patient awakening in the middle of surgery. I sense a force or presence more powerful than me holding me down, preventing me from awakening--which is typical of sleep paralysis.
~~~
In college, I fell asleep after a morning class. I opened my eyes about half an hour later, but couldn't move my body. I could only move my eyes. As I scanned the room, I could see the sun on the carpet, my desk and computer, my roommate's desk. I heard the sound of a TV with no reception--often described as "snow" (but I've never heard snow in this way, only the soft flap as it piles up on the ground). I hear sinister laughing and sense an evil presence holding me down. This experience terrified me, but I later learned about sleep paralysis and that these are typical symptoms / experiences. I also learned that such episodes are thought to be the source of reports of alien abduction. Turns out folks who think they were abducted by aliens and probed or operated upon, may have merely been suffering from this sleep disorder. I completely understand how such a mistake could be made. I certainly have never been abducted by aliens (a fact I find quite sad).
Thursday, January 31, 2013
January 30th, 2013
1
found a sock I had been missing
a Wigwam
so pleased
2
Old man teaches me how to punch properly.
"Make a triangle with your knuckles, like this," he arranges the knuckles of my fist into a triangle.
"Then, when you punch, flick them like this at the last moment," this he demonstrates with his own fist.
3
Driving in the dark through an old city--probably Philly. Three-story row homes line the streets, with taller apartment buildings interspersed. I pass a row home fire on my right. Firefighters are already attacking the blaze. I turn right and a ball of fire explodes from the top floor of another row home. The concussive force of the blast shakes me. I drive further along and a third row home bursts into flames. This one prevents me from continuing on the same road. I turn left and find more fires and wonder how many fires the fire department can handle. I realize they'll need to call in fighters from other towns.
I'm frustrated because I cannot continue on my journey. I always drive the same route and now I am disoriented.
1
found a sock I had been missing
a Wigwam
so pleased
2
Old man teaches me how to punch properly.
"Make a triangle with your knuckles, like this," he arranges the knuckles of my fist into a triangle.
"Then, when you punch, flick them like this at the last moment," this he demonstrates with his own fist.
3
Driving in the dark through an old city--probably Philly. Three-story row homes line the streets, with taller apartment buildings interspersed. I pass a row home fire on my right. Firefighters are already attacking the blaze. I turn right and a ball of fire explodes from the top floor of another row home. The concussive force of the blast shakes me. I drive further along and a third row home bursts into flames. This one prevents me from continuing on the same road. I turn left and find more fires and wonder how many fires the fire department can handle. I realize they'll need to call in fighters from other towns.
I'm frustrated because I cannot continue on my journey. I always drive the same route and now I am disoriented.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
January 26th, 2013
I'm in an old building with many people. We're hot, thirsty, and hungry. We've been vacationing nearby and visited this location which seems to be an amusement park of some kind. The power has gone out, which is why we're so hot (no A/C) and cannot escape (electric locks on the gates will not open). The sun is bright and one positive is that we can go outside. However, we must be cautious because there are many dangers in this park, which reminds me of Jurassic Park (except that we do not see any dinosaurs--there just seem to be many hidden dangers).
We're growing restless. Everyone seems to have a plan that, we quickly discover, will not work. One person suggests that we try scaling the walls (which are made of stone, and are about twenty feet high with electrified wires at the top--power still seems to be running through them).
We travel to the entrance of the park, which is a long, narrow, enclosed bridge with windows on either side. We seem to have avoided traveling through the center of the park (which is the most dangerous) and made our way to the entrance safely (it wasn't far from the building where we were sweltering). The bridge connects the outside world to the park. When we reach the end of the bridge (we're traveling away from the outside world for some reason), we are greeted by FBI agents who only reveal that they are in the FBI because of the dire situation. They wear mirrored sunglasses. A middle-aged FBI agent tells us we cannot continue on into the park. "You shouldn't be here without special glasses...you're not supposed to see this place." We're lead to understand that the government has been hiding the true purpose of this park and that the special glasses visitors are required to wear prevent them from seeing what is actually in the park.
Realizing the peril we're all in, the agent allows us to continue into the park without glasses.
Friday, January 18, 2013
January 17th, 2013
At a large, open-air stadium with friends from Delaware and my wife. We're there to see Springsteen or someone like him. The stadium is packed. The North Korean army marches in and takes a seat in the center of the stadium. They face us. I'm suddenly worried about being publicly beaten. I flash back to a vivid memory of my last public beating in this very place. I'm standing on a stage in the center of the stadium. I'm a bloody mess. North Korean soldiers surrounded me. It was apparent to me that the audience did not approve of my beating, but they remained silent and watched.
The memory fades and I am growing increasingly more anxious about my impending beating. I tell my wife and friends I am going to get something to eat--I really intend to escape. For some reason they (my wife and friends) do not recall my former beating, or, it's possible they just refuse to mention it. I walk down the cement steps, past the concession, and into the parking lot. There, a North Korean soldier approaches me and says, "Bryan?" I just look at him and he adds, "There's no escape." He smiles and gently leads me to a room where other soldiers are present. They shove me around a bit and laugh, relishing the knowledge that they'll have a chance to beat me very shortly.
I am ushered out of the room and onto the field in the center of the stadium. I see that President Obama and Michelle Obama are in the audience, sitting in the second row. I now look forward to being beaten because I'm certain Obama will intervene. But then I recall that a former president (couldn't remember which one) was in the audience the last time I was beaten. When the pummeling began, the secret service swiftly surrounded the president and pulled him to safety before he could help me.
And now I realize the same will happen again--Obama will be pulled to safety and I will face the merciless fists of North Korean soldiers.
At a large, open-air stadium with friends from Delaware and my wife. We're there to see Springsteen or someone like him. The stadium is packed. The North Korean army marches in and takes a seat in the center of the stadium. They face us. I'm suddenly worried about being publicly beaten. I flash back to a vivid memory of my last public beating in this very place. I'm standing on a stage in the center of the stadium. I'm a bloody mess. North Korean soldiers surrounded me. It was apparent to me that the audience did not approve of my beating, but they remained silent and watched.
The memory fades and I am growing increasingly more anxious about my impending beating. I tell my wife and friends I am going to get something to eat--I really intend to escape. For some reason they (my wife and friends) do not recall my former beating, or, it's possible they just refuse to mention it. I walk down the cement steps, past the concession, and into the parking lot. There, a North Korean soldier approaches me and says, "Bryan?" I just look at him and he adds, "There's no escape." He smiles and gently leads me to a room where other soldiers are present. They shove me around a bit and laugh, relishing the knowledge that they'll have a chance to beat me very shortly.
I am ushered out of the room and onto the field in the center of the stadium. I see that President Obama and Michelle Obama are in the audience, sitting in the second row. I now look forward to being beaten because I'm certain Obama will intervene. But then I recall that a former president (couldn't remember which one) was in the audience the last time I was beaten. When the pummeling began, the secret service swiftly surrounded the president and pulled him to safety before he could help me.
And now I realize the same will happen again--Obama will be pulled to safety and I will face the merciless fists of North Korean soldiers.
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