Dream Journal

Discussion, in general

Re: Dream Journal

Postby Malfeasinator » Mon Apr 24, 2017 3:50 am

I'm going to stop talking about my dreams to people I know in real life. They just keep looking at me like I'm weird.

Even people I've known for a long time and have a history of talking to about dreams, are avoiding me based on what I said I had dreams about.

I mean yeah, I had a dream where we were all having a big family dinner and there were these other relatives (that only existed in the dream world) that passed away, and wanted as part of their will, to be cooked and eaten by the rest of the family. My grandma was reluctant to cook them but she did after we peer pressured her into it, and we all had their ribs for dinner.

They were kind of bland, but I don't expect dream food to taste like much.

I don't see what's so weird about that.
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby IamNotCreepy » Mon Apr 24, 2017 2:41 pm

The other night I fell asleep on the couch after a little too much wine.

Sometimes when I dream I drift in and out where I'll see the room around me but I can't distinguish dream from reality (this does tend to happen more often after consuming alcohol).

So I "wake up" and see someone standing over me in a lab coat with a needle in his hand before passing back out.

I wake back up for real at about 3 or 4am and start to head to my actual bed, understandably a little freaked out. For my own peace of mind, I check the front door, but I discover it was left unlocked.

I did not have an easy time going back to sleep.
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby Krashlia » Mon Apr 24, 2017 9:20 pm

(puts away the syringe) I mean, maybe your subconscious knew thqt you left the door open so it gave you a dream about it. Yeah, that- that subconscious.
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby cmsellers » Fri Apr 28, 2017 3:52 pm

Somehow I was living in a tiny house, and was driving it around on a trailer attached to my car (which was actually the car my late grandfather gave to my brother). I decided I was going to live in a Home Depot parking lot, since it seemed like a good location. I left the lot, then returned and while I was trying to unhitch the trailer, a wisecracking black guy observed that the sewage and electricity weren't working, and attempted to call the electric company to complain. I just ignored him, because the unit was self-contained and I assumed he was a panhandler.

Then I realized I'd parked in a reserved spot. As I made to move, I saw a meter maid going door-to-door, knocking on car windows and telling them they couldn't park overnight. I high-tailed it out of there and moved to a shadier spot. I tried to call my mother, who is a lawyer and the one who suggested I buy a tiny house and park it in the parking lot of Home Depot near the model sheds, and my phone died. I have a pre-paid phone, so went into Home Depot to buy more minutes.

I noticed a table with free giveaways, which had one brown paper bag falling apart. Fortunately, I suddenly had my messenger bag, should I want anything from it. It was filled with almost=new science-fiction novels from authors I'd heard of, many award-winning, and though I don't usually read novels, who can pass up free? I went through, and noticed that one of these things was not like the others. It was thinly-disguised Star Trek fan fiction in an unusually cheaply-priced trade paperback which showed no signs of having been read even lightly.

I assumed it was a vanity-published book that had been given as a gift either by the author or someone who knew the person who left the books liked "sci fi" but knew nothing about the genre of SF. I loaded my bag with books by the likes of Chris Platt (obviously a combination of Christopher Priest and Charles Platt; I was reading about The Last Dangerous Visions a couple days ago) and Vernor Vinge, leaving only the odd book out. I headed to the back of the store, where for some reason the TracFone cards were instead of their usual place up front.

As I headed back, a cute girl came up to me and asked if I liked science fiction. I said I did and asked if it was her collection, which she confirmed. Then, as I was trying to figure out why a cute girl would initiate a conversation with me, and remembered how the likes of James Tiptree Jr. and Andre Norton wrote under pen names so that nobody would know their real names were "Alice," and remembered that women like to write fan fiction, and it dawned on me that she might be the author of that book. So I asked, and she confirmed it. Then I apologized for not taking her book, and she said that she'd been leaving large chunks of her collection on the table with copies in the hopes that people would take it, and I hadn't been the first person to leave only her book.

Then I apologized and offered to take a copy and read it, and then I got the idea she was a member of a cult trying to convert me, and then I woke up.
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby Malfeasinator » Thu May 04, 2017 5:26 am

cmsellers wrote:Somehow I was living in a tiny house, and was driving it around on a trailer attached to my car (which was actually the car my late grandfather gave to my brother). I decided I was going to live in a Home Depot parking lot, since it seemed like a good location. I left the lot, then returned and while I was trying to unhitch the trailer, a wisecracking black guy observed that the sewage and electricity weren't working, and attempted to call the electric company to complain. I just ignored him, because the unit was self-contained and I assumed he was a panhandler.

Then I realized I'd parked in a reserved spot. As I made to move, I saw a meter maid going door-to-door, knocking on car windows and telling them they couldn't park overnight. I high-tailed it out of there and moved to a shadier spot. I tried to call my mother, who is a lawyer and the one who suggested I buy a tiny house and park it in the parking lot of Home Depot near the model sheds, and my phone died. I have a pre-paid phone, so went into Home Depot to buy more minutes.

I noticed a table with free giveaways, which had one brown paper bag falling apart. Fortunately, I suddenly had my messenger bag, should I want anything from it. It was filled with almost=new science-fiction novels from authors I'd heard of, many award-winning, and though I don't usually read novels, who can pass up free? I went through, and noticed that one of these things was not like the others. It was thinly-disguised Star Trek fan fiction in an unusually cheaply-priced trade paperback which showed no signs of having been read even lightly.

I assumed it was a vanity-published book that had been given as a gift either by the author or someone who knew the person who left the books liked "sci fi" but knew nothing about the genre of SF. I loaded my bag with books by the likes of Chris Platt (obviously a combination of Christopher Priest and Charles Platt; I was reading about The Last Dangerous Visions a couple days ago) and Vernor Vinge, leaving only the odd book out. I headed to the back of the store, where for some reason the TracFone cards were instead of their usual place up front.

As I headed back, a cute girl came up to me and asked if I liked science fiction. I said I did and asked if it was her collection, which she confirmed. Then, as I was trying to figure out why a cute girl would initiate a conversation with me, and remembered how the likes of James Tiptree Jr. and Andre Norton wrote under pen names so that nobody would know their real names were "Alice," and remembered that women like to write fan fiction, and it dawned on me that she might be the author of that book. So I asked, and she confirmed it. Then I apologized for not taking her book, and she said that she'd been leaving large chunks of her collection on the table with copies in the hopes that people would take it, and I hadn't been the first person to leave only her book.

Then I apologized and offered to take a copy and read it, and then I got the idea she was a member of a cult trying to convert me, and then I woke up.


Did the pretty girl have red hair, by any chance?
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby cmsellers » Thu May 04, 2017 5:45 am

I think she was a brunette, why?
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby cmsellers » Sun May 07, 2017 4:40 pm

So I remember two rather interesting dreams from last night. The first was just before I woke up, via the alarm on my phone I set a long time ago and keep turning off the phone rather than the alarm, so I get woken up when it's on.

In this one, I was back at my mother's house, and it was filled with dead cockroaches. She wanted me to spray for roaches despite the fact that finding dead roaches lying on their backs means that they were poisoned and I pointed that out to her. She told me that the were still living long enough to breed and told me to put on a mask, for which I used my mask and snorkel from when I was a kid. She was surprised I still had them and suggested I should sell them on Craigslist. My mother's boarder (a former coworker of my mother and the father of one of my brother's best childhood friends) observed that a used mask and snorkel in that condition weren't likely to go for much, and she said that it was still worth seeing how much we could get. The boarder then told a joke about cockroaches:

A wasp, a mosquito, and a cockroach are talking about who is the biggest scourge on humanity. The wasp points out that many people are allergic to its sting and its very presence can drive humans to distraction. The mosquito points out that it can also drive humans to distraction but also kills millions through the spread of disease. Then the cockroach says "hold my beer."

What? I didn't say it was a funny joke.

The other dream I had I woke up in the wee hours and wrote it down so I'd remember it.

I was taking Alex Jones's class on political theater, and he introduced the notion of "shattershifting." In shattershifting, you create a character who plays up your opponent's worst views of you, then shatter your expectations by going even more insane and bugshit crazy. (Though he didn't explain it in the dream, I assume you shatter the norms and shift the Overton Window.) So I created a character—John Walker Lindbergh—and a blog whose tagline was "A blog to destroy America first."

ETA: I think Alex Jones may have been a character invented by Alex Baldwin in my dream, but I'm not certain at this point.
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby Malfeasinator » Wed May 10, 2017 1:26 pm

cmsellers wrote:I think she was a brunette, why?


Tricky women in my dreams used to be redheads. It was a recurring thing. Sometimes it would just be the one, other times two or more, and I always killed them off in horrible ways, like knifing them in the throat or setting them on fire.
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby mancityfooty » Fri May 12, 2017 1:56 am

I had promised to help some people move. They showed up in a Uhaul.
The thing was massive.
Two stories tall and two floors. Some kind of staircase to get upstairs, there might have been two of them. It had a long hallway down to a bedroom on the upper floor. It was all molded plastic and vinyl wrapped foam pads to make a bed. It didn't look comfortable, but just weird.
There was another bed, much the same but smaller, behind the front seats.
I made a joke about how I had to get one of these to live in.
And I did make a "it's bigger on the inside" joke.
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby Aquila89 » Wed May 24, 2017 10:41 am

I've been dreaming so much lately that it's worrying me. I very rarely remember my dreams, but now I've been remembering them for like a week in a row. In one dream, I was chased up the stairs by a serial killer. I know he was a serial killer because of the type of glasses he wore. (This might've been inspired by the Serial Killer Glasses Store sketch from Inside Amy Schumer). In another dream, I was being deported to Auschwitz. Somehow, it wasn't scary at all.
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As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby cmsellers » Mon Jun 05, 2017 8:47 pm

Last night I dreamed that there were seven races: white people (who all looked pretty much albino in my dream) and six races of colored people: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet.

I went to a meetup which turned out to be mostly populated by white supremacists, and they ostracized me for not joining in their racism against the colored races and eventually went elsewhere. But one woman then came back said she was very conservative but still on the fence about the idea of white supremacy, and she wanted to hear me out.

So I decided to demonstrate the contributions of each of the colored races. I started with red, then I was on orange when I woke up. I explained about how George Washington Carver contributed to US agriculture, and played her some Fats Domino to demonstrate the orange race's influence rock 'n' roll (plus how good Fats Domino is), and I was explaining the contribution of soul food to white Southern cuisine when I woke up.

Immediately after I woke up I realized what my subconscious was doing: In my dream, orange was the new black.
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby octoberpumpkin » Tue Jun 13, 2017 4:58 pm

I actually kind of had a dream about you guys. But like, the forum was a big mansion and we were all playing mafia. And I didn't feel good and you guys were so sweet and brought me yummy foods
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby Anglerphobe » Tue Jun 13, 2017 7:18 pm

octoberpumpkin wrote: But like, the forum was a big mansion


*looks around, bewildered*

Is it not?
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"Tusser, they tell me, when thou wert alive,
Thou, teaching thrift, thyselfe couldst never thrive.
So, like the whetstone, many men are wont
To sharpen others, when themselves are blunt."

Anyone who has any kind of opinion fucking disgusts me.
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby Ladki96 » Wed Jun 14, 2017 5:43 am

I had one like that too, ages ago :D it was in a Hogwarts-like common room and everyone was making gentle pervert jokes :P don't remember much else
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Re: Dream Journal

Postby CarrieVS » Wed Jun 14, 2017 9:31 am

I dreamed my downstairs neighbours sawed through their ceiling and my bedroom floor and my bed with a huge saw in the middle of the night, and this would have made perfect sense for them to do, if they'd cut in the right place (just above the head of my bed, instead of about level with my armpits). I can't remember why it made sense. But I'd messed up and given them a wrong measurement or something and they sawed through my bed and almost me with it.
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