Dream VII

Two of my cats, Leela and Striker, were fighting. At that moment, the front door opened, and a large owl flew inside. He immediately flew to the ceiling light, which was a suspended dish, and decided to rest there.

Efforts to get him out of the lighting fixture, and then outside, were futile. The cats became interested in this new visitor, but not to the extent of ceasing hostilities. Their fighting became less prolonged and more a series of brief skirmishes.

Finally, I found a long stick to poke the owl with. Before I could do so, however, it feebly moved around a bit, then used its long beak to slowly push itself out of the ceiling light, and over the rim of the dish. It fell to the floor with a solid thump, and appeared to be dead--in fact, it appeared to have been dead for some time.

As I opened the door to sweep it outside, over the second floor railing, it came to life and flew slowly just above the floor. It made for the open door and disappeared into the forest.

Before I closed the door, I noted that there seemed to be some huge (five foot) slug attached to the inner surface. (Unknown why I didn't spot it before.) It was a dark, reddish brown, aside from some white feeler-like protrusions near the underside of the "head." I wasn't certain what to do with it, but my wife pointed out that it wasn't an actual, live slug, it was a large stuffed fish toy, like a teddy bear.

Later, it was time for me to get ready to go to work. I could not find any shaving cream, however. Someone I knew who happened to be in the house had some, so I went into his bathroom to see what I could find. There was can of shaving cream, which I tried experimentally, but it instead created a fire at the top (like a large cigarette lighter) that was burning incense.

I resolved to use soap instead of shaving cream, but a little while later the friend appeared with another can and said I could use it. However, there was little in it other than compressed air, so I shaved using soap instead. I used a large copper bowl filled with water for this, using the water surface as a mirror.

One of my children came up to me during the process and said that "food from October needs to be restored." Even though I knew he meant a computer file by that name, to be restored from tape, it still struck me as humorous.

Dream VI

My job was to drive patrons from a pickup place to the beach, along a stretch of scenic highway. On this occasion, one passenger in my large silver car was Angelina Jolie, though I only saw her when she entered the car, and had no interaction with her.

It was going to be tricky getting everyone there, as there had been some severe flooding lately, and a good stretch of the highway (the curve nearest the beach, in fact) was underwater. I was only worried about the car's traction on the asphault, however; the car was water-tight and fully capable of driving underwater.

A half-mile or so before this curve, traffic became quite heavy, although the flow was still quite good. I eased over into the left lane to go around some of the slower cars. As I did so, one of the slower cars ahead also went into the left lane; not terribly happy with this, none-the-less I waited behind him patiently as he sought to pass someone even slower than himself. Then, I was hoping he would return to the right lane.

Once he passed the other car, however, he didn't return to his lane, and a red car pulling an Airstream trailer moved into the right lane and began slowly passing our position.

That just is not done, I thought, getting angry at the red car driver.

As we entered a tunnel, the original slow car suddenly sped up and passed the red car, and I did the same, casting the driver (who looked slow-witted) a quick glance of disapproval. I then moved into the right lane myself so that this gauche disregard of ettiquette would not be repeated.

I also passed the original slow car, and continued on to the beach. Further on, a lady with very short pants how much longer it would be until we arrived; I told her it would only be a few moments.

Dream V

Today was the day that Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow was going to be released on DVD, and I was very excited about that. I couldn't wait for the stores to open, but of course I had to go to work.

I lived in a city of huge buildings and highway bridges sprawling everywhere. While a bit dingy and overwhelming in size, it was nonetheless a charming place to live, where history and old things were highly thought of.

I was to be given some kind of honorarium at work. This required me to take a number of folks to my apartment, which was high in one of the buildings. It was a bit dusty, with high walls covered in bookshelves, which were, of course, filled with books.

As the owner of the business sat in my reading chair, he asked me which kind of Christmas Carols I wanted to sing, traditional or Celtic. He said that if I chose traditional, we could begin practice right away; if I chose Celtic, I'd have to leave the room while they prepared. After a moment's thought, I chose Celtic, thinking I'd have time to go out and buy the Sky Captain DVD.

He told me that was a fine choice, but that I would have to remove anything by J.R.R. Tolkein from the room. I said that was fine, and he handed me a book. "I'll need Return of the King, as well," I said.

He handed me another book, and I said, "I meant the DVD." I reached behind him and grabbed the item in question (which was beneath another book). I then left the room.

All the stores that sold DVDs were in the lower levels of the city, and I was happily driving along to the nearest Best Buy. It was due to open any moment now.

Dream IV

My boss and I were working in the upper reaches of our building--reaches so upper, in fact, that they consisted of little more than iron scaffolding, and we needed breathing equipment and pressure suits in order to work.

While we were up there, I related the story of Dream III, presenting it as "the latest remake." He seemed partially interested. (Note: as with all dreams, Dream III became something different when inside another. In particular, there were lots of soldiers, and firefights in underground corridors. In fact, the whole thing took place in underground corridors.)

As I prepared to leave, I opened the hatchway to the next lower floor. On the steps was some paper money--I picked it up, and found that I had one $450 bill, one $350 bill, one dollar bill, and one $100 bill.

I called out to my boss, saying that I had found a considerable sum of money; he replied that I should keep it, and I answered that I didn't feel comfortable keeping such a large sum.

He asked, "What is it, nine dollars?"

I replied, "Try one hundred times that."

He said, "You mean, twenty-nine dollars?"

Despite repeating the figures, I could not make him understand that nine times one hundred was not twenty-nine.

Eventually, I showed him the bills. He looked at them for a long time, without saying anything.

Dream III

The Blob had returned to Earth, and had already killed many. We were able to determine that it had a base that it returned to, and that turned out to be an island in the Atlantic off the South American coast. I and another agent, a female, were sent to investigate, knowing that the Blob would consume us if we were discovered.

We knew that the island was home to an ultra-modern resort, which was filled with numerous water-features and glass floors, and was affordable enough so that many families could vacation there. No deaths had been recorded there, however.

We decided to land on the island at separate times, so as to allay any suspicions. The resort was filled to capacity, but since we didn't need rooms, that was okay; we conducted our investigations. Later, we met in the resort's coffee lounge and coordinated our findings.

It seemed that not only had the Blob not harmed any of these people, it had actually formed an alliance with them. In fact, we were able to discretely observe that the Blob gave rides to various vacationers in the resort's lagoon. The creature would swoop and dive through the waters, while the riders held on and howled with delight. Many times during our meetings, we could observe the creature diving beneath the glass floors. It seemed to do this throughout the day, whether it had riders or not. Observing during the night hours was more difficult--the resort security forces were very alert--but it seemed as if the creature was quiescent after the sun went down. This remained only a suspicion, however, and cannot be regarded as a definitive characteristic of the creature; caution is advised at all times.

We knew that we had to get word of this to the outside world. We also knew that we had begun to arouse some suspicions among the resort staff, so we needed to again leave separately.

There was only one way off the island for us: swimming. We knew that the Blob travelled the waters during the day, so the evening would be the best time to escape. However, the darkness meant that we would be at the mercy of the creature if it could detect us. We agreed to leave by separate beachfronts to double our chances of bringing the story to the world. We left that evening. I swam as rapidly as I could, trying not to give into my exhaustion, and feeling a surge of panic whenever I saw anything large in the water.

Exhausted, I soon reached land. I never heard from or saw the other agent again; it was my belief that the Blob had gotten her. I knew that she gave her life to make certain that I got out with the information, so I redoubled my efforts to tell the world, faxing copies of my story to as many newspapers, television studios and radio stations as I could.

I never saw my story in print. The only mention of it was an irate letter in The American Spectator magazine, calling my story a fabrication and questioning my competancy as an observer and my judgement in reporting.

It is possible, though, that the untold story had the necessary effect. Since I left the island, the Blob has made no more attacks, apparently content to give rides to tourists in exchange for their cooperation, and their silence.

Dream II

Earth is visited by powerfully built, stocky aliens who are totally bald except for mustaches. They are an energetic, no-nonsense people, and they wish to trade with us.

The product they have on offer is a kind of lustrous black paint, almost a lacquer, which protects surfaces from damage. It dries to such a hard surface that it is nearly bulletproof.

Unfortunately, it also dries quite rapidly. So rapidly, that it must be applied almost as soon as the container is opened. It can only be applied by a very delicate brush, but the aliens train extensively in this art, and rapid drying rarely becomes a problem.

I have been assigned as a liason to the son of the leader of the aliens. He looks exactly like his father, but I have been told (both by the father and by those in charge of me) that his intelligence is "suspect." The assignment of Earth-liason has been given to him as a way of keeping him in the force. He is going to show me how the paint is applied. When I ask how extensive his training was, I am given evasive answers. I begin to suspect that my own assignment is less than central to the whole enterprise.

Nonetheless, I meet with the son and we exchange pleasantries while the paints and brushes are brought out and the project is prepared. He is going to coat a large cylinder.

His first few attempts at painting are disasters; long before a coating is completed (sometimes before one is even begun) the brush hardens to a point harder than a diamond. And the process must be repeated.

I have begun trying to guide his hand, helping him to best apply his energy, speed and accuracy so that the task can be completed as it is supposed to be. I soon become pretty well acquainted with what is required of this process, and I start to wonder if the son isn't as they claim, but this is their subtle method of training me in their techniques. (This suspicion remains untested.)

In the meantime, the aliens say they also have a tank of premium gasoline that they wish to trade; however, they value order above all, and they cannot begin negotiations for this until the paint trade has been concluded.

I am curiously optimistic about it all.

Dream I

It was the aftermath of a storm; bits of debris (mostly leaves and small branches) were all over the large parking lot.

It was necessary for me to fly my plane to a house on top of a mountain, but I needed supplies first.

As I was gathering the needed materials, the wound in my stomach started to ooze. I pressed my fingers against it, and noted with some surprise that there appeared to be something hard under the skin.

I recalled when I first received the wound, some days back; a man with a large wooden pole had accidentally backed into me, and thrust the pole into my stomach. He was mortified and apologized profusely, but I thought nothing of it.

I pulled the object out of my skin, and it was a small piece of the pole, perhaps three inches in length. I broke it open, and there was a small scroll of paper inside.

I unwrapped it, and this is what it said: Brown should be the color of kitchen linoleum.