Tuesday, April 18, 2017

The Joker may have had someone kill Batman in Morocco. (dream)

Picture by mconnors at Morguefile.com


The camera is omniscient. I'm a detective coming down some stairs into of a building made of adobe. We're in Morocco and I have a couple of local police officers backing me up. We've been summoned to a crisis in a restaurant. We must have arrived at the right spot, and a little too late, because on the floor in front of the bar stools is what appears to be a human body lying under a white, linen sheet.

The Joker is here at the bar among the gawkers. Accompanying him is a soft, gummy rabbit made of soft metal. The bunny's features make him look like a little gummy bear, but a gummy bear the size of a cat with elongated ears.

Several people have stopped to look at a corpse lying on the floor of a very busy corridor. The bunny just  happened to be passing by only recently. The bunny is really cute, but I don't trust it. It seems to have even more vigor and juice than the Joker, its companion. He doesn't match anyone or anything in the building, except the Joker. And the Joker seems to be feeling quite alive and well, just a little bored. Several hours prior, they both went upstairs into the hot noonday sun. I wasn't there to stop them for questioning.

I lift up the thin fabric. The man underneath is dead. He's wearing a Batman mask. There are several holes in his torso with dried blood surrounding holes singed with flesh and dried blood.

There's another criminal investigator in the building, but he's private. I can't expect him to do well. But he looks as though he means business.

The bunny and Joker seem genuinely confused.

"I'm going to regret having compassion, for those two, aren't I?" The police and I leave the crime scene to the private detective and we leave the Joker and the bunny and go back to the station. The bunny immediately starts causing trouble by whipping out a pistol. It seems to be some kind of extension of the Joker.

I go further into a nearby building and weave in and out of darkened, tiled, public showers, which open up into sunny gardens where parties are being held and I have no clothing to wear except for towels.


This dream took place a very long time ago (last summer). The worst thing that was happening around that time was my cat's severe respiratory illness and renal failure. Actually, I wasn't doing much of anything at that time except feeding her meat baby food with a little spoon, finding kitty foods she was capable of eating, helping her in and out of the litter box, playing kitty songs and videos for her, and giving her subcutaneous fluids. It was a very sad time, but I'm glad I could take care of her, and at least I had her with me, alive and taking some enjoyment from her videos of birds and squirrels. At the exact same time, I'd gotten into a pretty serious argument with my best friend of almost 10 years (and we knew each other 10 years prior to that). I thought it was over for two of my very best friends.

The main connections I can think of with the time and the dream is how the seemingly good may or may not be genuine (the guy dressed as Batman wasn't definitely him) and the villains weren't necessarily evil, unstoppable or even large. It wasn't the Joker, but a much less obvious, innocent-seeming bunny that did the most damage. There's no evil to blame for my cat's multiple illnesses, or even (more arguably) the ending of yet one more old friendship from my hometown. And if there was a goodness to the ending of the friendship, well maybe I needed a break and it was good for both of us to get motivated to try something new. The maze may symbolize all of the running around I had to do to take care of my cat: finding affordable IV administrators, visiting her in the vet's boarding room, appointments with the vet, giving her the new medication on top of the old, being told she wouldn't last the night and crying my eyes out for her in and out of the clinic- completely unprepared (without the right clothes).

Saturday, March 4, 2017

I steal a blue, glittering notebook and almost get shot. (dreams)


I enter a Barnes & Noble bookstore. The blue notebook I came here for flashes at me out of the corner of my eye. I have to steal it because I know my father will be glad I did after he's dead. So I take it; I put it under my arm and walk out of the store slowly. I try to be cool, but once I'm outside, I can't stop myself from breaking into a run. Ice and snow have turned the entire landscape white, but I manage to get out of the parking lot onto the sidewalk and keep running! But lots of people are walking back and forth on the sidewalks.

Two people in front of me are arguing at the bus stop. Then the one facing me points a gun at the guy in front of him! I'm way too close to them! I can't go back, so I buckle down and run past both of them. I hear a gunshot, but I know I wasn't hit because I'm still running and I'm not going to stop anytime soon! I look behind me and the guy is still pointing the pistol at him. I'm amazed that nothing has stopped me so far, and I'm shocked that I might be stopped by accidents like the weather or street violence instead of something more just, like someone protecting the goods I stole.


I feel as though I'm having this dream kind of late. My father died over a year ago and I went through his affects then. There was one thing he wanted me to do for him when I asked, knowing his illness was terminal... but I've done it already. It worked out quite well. His aspirations for the materials I was given instructions for were realized. But I don't think it would've bothered him too much if I hadn't succeed. There are still a lot of other little things I could do that might have made him a little bit happier. But there was one big thing I was told that he wanted me to do above all else that I absolutely cannot. I can't alter my religious beliefs for anyone, including him.

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

The case of the missing wife. (dream)

Picture of daddy long legs by bella_domanie on Morguefile.com


I'm working for someone who's inspecting the disappearance of a newly-wedded bride. Her husband seems extremely distraught and without hope for our retrieving her, but we aren't discounting the possibility that she's alive. We're also not discounting the possibility that the husband knows more than he's telling. Personally, I have a strong hunch that he's sincere, but I don't trust my hunches.

"Take this to this address," my boss says to me, handing me a small green bottle and a piece of paper.

I don't know my boss yet and I don't trust him. He doesn't seem to have the sort of personality that would be into mine without a lot of effort on his part. I also think he views me as disposable. Just before he handed me this vial, he was privately looking over something sent to him, personally. It had moved him, both viscerally and negatively.

I have a really bad feeling about this, but I'm new and curious, and curiosity is the only real reason I took this job. But now, I just don't feel the way I did when I signed up. I don't feel like myself. I feel sort of flaky and out of it. I go just because I can't think of anything else to say or do. The confrontation doesn't seem worth the effort.

I walk up to a cross-street. There's someone who used to work with me! He comes up to me and I persuade the guy to drop off the vial for me in exchange for some money and a few favors.

I go off to get started on the favors and the camera leaves me and follows him up to 221B Baker Street. A Victorian, lace-collared Mrs. Hudson answers the door and receives the vial. She seems to know exactly where to deliver it. She goes up the stairs and sees a horrifying sight: the corpse of a woman in a bridal dress, face picked open, hanging in a web over a four-poster bed. Over her is a khaki-colored alien that looks like a spider crab with 20-foot-long leg segments.

The spider-alien sees Mrs. Hudson. She screams. The spider quickly steps over to her. It punctures the tube she was delivering, sucks up the fluid inside and injects her with it. I don't know what will happen to her, but the spider scrambles away immediately, the way nearly any venomous animal would unless it was rear-fanged or had to chew in order to get venom into a prey item's bloodstream.


I'm helping to plan a wedding and I'm suddenly extremely interested in how to bake and decorate cakes and design floral arrangements, etc., so I can see hints of why I had this dream. It's a fairly personal thing though, so I debated for a long time about whether or not to post about it. For a long time, I've been of a mind that there's no reason to hold back information. Any attempts to use information against someone willing to be vulnerable enough to share it is... well, a breech of some kind of unspoken social contract to me. It's part of the risk inherent in vulnerability and what makes it valuable, and I know what side I'm on with regard to openness versus being too judgmental or closed-off. But the closer I get to this idea of total disclosure, the more I see how it definitely wouldn't suit how I feel or how I want to plan things a lot of the time.

But on the other hand, and less generally, I don't like the idea of completely forgetting so many events of my life. It's good to have some of it on "paper," because I always wonder where the information I've absorbed goes. Too often, it feels as though it was never really there for me to have. Yet it doesn't belong to anyone else. It just passes straight through me... there and gone. And it seems most likely that it never will have mattered much anyway in the long run, except to me... and I won't even be able to remember so much of it while I'm alive, never mind after I'm dead, so it's probably pointless except to my very temporary survival.

I recognized the bottle in the dream. It was my eyelash glue remover. I don't use fake eyelashes myself, but I have been trying to learn how to use it on other women. I think of it as potentially adding a little bit of  femininity. Lately, I've been reading a lot of diatribe from certain misogynistic groups that have begun to develop online. Mrs. Hudson and the doomed bride were certainly women, and both were killed by a venomous creature that had grown much larger than one would expect. The time of the mystery was also thrown back to the 19th century, before women could even vote. The injection of venom traditionally implies hurtful or harmful verbal injections.

I'm fascinated by these little hate groups, but I wish I weren't. I don't know why it's so easy for me and many others to be so strongly attracted to drama like this. Not even the happy moments of my life, the ones that probably will have made my life worth while, suck me in easily or play back for me at regular intervals the way negative moments tend to. I guess that's just the pragmatism of basic survival. Back in the suburbs, just after graduating from high school, I got so sucked into abnormal psychology and the DSM because it offered that thing that I never understood about people who love to watch horror movies- a quick look at mortality and human frailty. I think about some of my friends who were attracted to horror and gore and how I was (am) so sensitive to it and I laugh. I think I found that same excitement I didn't understand in horror movies in abnormal psychology. There isn't so much difference in terms of an adrenaline output without risk. At least not until you really think about the narratives.

After looking at this website about dream symbols, http://www.dreambible.com/search.php?q=Bride, I also think I must have been feeling anxious about the permanent changes in my life that I feel might be taking place.

I really enjoyed spending as much time as possible flitting about from one activity and one career or subject of interest for a long, long time. But I'm starting to feel that I can't be the way I was with regard to a lack of commitment of interest. That's probably why I keep associating brides with teachers I bump into in my new major. The days only seem to get shorter and the laundry list of things I want to learn and do only lengthens and I know I'll never get to it all, because that would be physically impossible. I suppose it's time to think about "marriage," not so much literally, but figuratively. But perhaps I do also need to start considering if I want a family or not, because time is flying... but it's also flying so fast that I won't notice or care if I never make my own new family. And if I'm dead, I probably won't remember anything about my life or have any  awareness of anything at all anyway. If people have souls, then why can a person's core, automatic responses to stimuli, or even all of their conscious beliefs change so dramatically as a result of physical injuries and drugs? Yep. My current vote is: there's no point to anything.

Thursday, January 26, 2017

Building a phone app in Swedish? (dream)

Picture at Morguefile.com

I drive to a grocery store. Using my car's windshield, I start using a quick, drag-n-drop builder in order to create an app. The challenge is in that the builder is in Swedish. I have to do searches for Swedish words as I go and both the process and I are incredibly slow.

I've parked in front of a bunch of flowers. I'm waiting for someone inside to finish.

I get tired of waiting, so I go inside. I see who I've been waiting for: myself. I see myself sitting at a craps table getting my fortune told. I don't know why I'm wasting my time like this. I don't see what I hope to gain. I'm pretty sure I'm going to get vague, generalized predictions about my future regarding things that could apply to nearly anyone.

There's a woman dressed like a shill standing next to the table. She turns cards over from a large deck. The two women interpret each card as different possible futures. Each card has a kitten on it with a different silly, cute pose. I like kittens. Who doesn't like kittens? So I stand beside myself and partake in the fortune teller's tarot game.


I do not speak Swedish. I have never programmed an app either. I am, however, partially Scandanavian. I recently took a commercial DNA test and learned more about my various racial divisions. I had a couple of surprises!

Nothing was more surprising than the test result stating that I'm slightly Jewish. I was surprised to feel a little bit afraid of the information.... like it was a secret I should have kept for my own safety, even though it's 2017 and I live in the United States. Perhaps that's why there are two of me in the dream: I self-identify as multi-racial and can pass for several different ethnicities. I hate having to choose other options or to choose just one option on demographic-collecting-forms and such.

I think it would be nice to program an app for android when I get more of my ducks in a row. I don't think anyone is going to care about it, but that's not important. I thought it would be fun to make a choose your own adventure love story. I've also been wishing that I could make a tarot deck! The pictures on tarot decks are usually very interesting. The archetypes in each card provide fertile ground for creative imagery.

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Losing a very important ring in a department store shower. (dream)

Picture from Morguefile.com


I'm going through racks and racks of clothing in a very posh department store until I find a very special ring. The ring has triangular shards of blue coating the silver band. This is my ring, or rather, my parents' and ancestors' ring. I don't know what it could be doing here. I know I have to take it with me, but wouldn't that be stealing? I definitely didn't bring it in with me. I also don't think I can just go up to a clerk and explain the situation.

I take the ring with me as I pass through the racks and racks of clothing and bring the ring into a wooden shower in the store's bathroom and leave it there. It's not in the store for sale anymore, but is a lost item. I don't know if this will help me retrieve it. I can't stand the thought of someone else keeping what belongs to my family.

I shop around a little more, planning to go back, and then go try on some clothing in the same area. A blonde woman dressed in gold sequins is wearing it. She's changed it from a bluish labradorite to gold.

I can't believe someone would have the nerve to steal a ring sitting there in the bathroom! It can't have special significance to her family and mine. She must not have even liked the ring much if she decided to change it.

I exchange glances with her and smile, and I forget the importance of taking back the ring.

She can have it, I think to myself. I go back to shopping for clothing.


I have a yearning to positively affect other people with stories from my life. But I struggle to decide how much I should and shouldn't share in public about my personal life and what the best way to go about it is. The dream reflected a sense of not having a choice about the ring, not coming in with it, not being able to leave without it, watching it transform, surprise at seeing it, and having no choice as to how it's perceived and received by others. I feel that this is how the events of life unfold.

Saturday, January 7, 2017

Dreaming about baby snakes and voles because of Star Trek. (dream)

Every now and then, I freak out about life in general due to multiple stressors that happen in time intervals that are too short for me to adapt to. Right now, I'm freaking out about an increase in my rent and the loss of a couple really important sources of income. I'm happy to say that I'm no longer freaking out about my cat's death because she has made a miraculous recovery. Nothing matters more to me than that recovery. But now that the core problem I've been facing has been solved, I look up and see that I have a handful of other problems to face.

It seems that no matter what, I keep on dreaming about Deep Space Nine. Even this dream about anorexic baby snakes that I need to take care of while living in my parents' house was about feeding snakes voles that overran the snake rack system. That was directly from an episode in season 2 in which Cardassian voles were eating the ship.

I've been listening to Joseph Campell's Hero of a Thousand Faces in which he compiles myths from dozens of cultures and shows us what they all have in common. I was listening to one about hell fire and brimstone. He juxtaposes troll-like fury, death and sin and the distress arising out of the phenomenon of our existence with a sense of nourishing enchantment about life and death. I happened to be in the grocery store looking at a tabloid when I was listening to this part of the audio book and I thought, "He has human nature down pat in this regard. We've never changed." It's incredible how repetitive and simple we as humans are despite any amount of knowledge that comes to us.

A yellow, banana Californian king snake is hungry. He's medium-sized. I look down and see that I must have already taken care of some of the voles that have overrun the system. The voles have been bagged. They've been frozen and are now thawing. That should've taken care of any parasites. The only worry now is whether or not the meat has rotted and the snake will throw it back up. I can't remember how long ago the voles were killed, frozen or thawed.

I dangle one for the snake. It opens its mouth and takes it. Its color is unusual. There are gray stripes where it's ordinarily black. It's hypomelanistic, but its eyes are black. It strikes the large vole and begins to eat it, head first. It doesn't spit it back out.

Two days in a row afterwards, I dreamed about Cardassians. I dreamed about anger and forgiveness: the expression of it; feeling guilt and passion and wanting to evade feelings of vulnerability.

Whatever I watch the day beforehand is what I dream about now. I can't remember ever dreaming so consistently about a television show. The one-on-one relationships are by far the best part of the show, or any Star Trek show for that matter. I can't say that's true of many other series. Harry Potter is amazing due to the crisp, simple language describing complex, imaginative worlds and the soaring, child-like wonder of exploring them. Star Wars is good because of its strict adherence to the monomyth, bringing us to a sense of our own hero's journey, and its clear cut right versus wrong mantra. But these one-on-one relationships in Star Trek are unique. I wonder why people attribute its success to its adherence to technical jargon. That just seems to be a natural outgrowth or a basic requirement.

Thursday, December 29, 2016

"Deep Space Nine;" the continuing adventures of Quark and Odo! (dream)

For three days straight, I've been dreaming about watching new episodes of Star Trek's Deep Space Nine. The worst part is, I never remember the finished episodes! I just barely get to the teaser and I wake up, rapidly forgetting most of the story. 

Last night I dreamed I was watching an episode in which Quark realizes he could make a profit off of selling himself as a male slave in a female-dominated society, but he was just caught selling himself at the space station when I woke up. Aaaaaaargh!

Another night, Odo was learning more about the necklace he received with shape-shifting DNA in it by copying it. And Quark had come into legal, legitimate possession of another object with those exact properties.

I mainly watched Star Trek Voyager out of convenience when I was a kid since it gave all the kids my age something in common to talk about. Deep Space Nine reruns were playing back when I was too young to watch non-cartoons. I was not allowed, which was fine, because non-cartoons often frightened me.

I'd forgotten this about kids until I went on vacation with someone who had a four year old. She was allowed to watch anything and everything, but she hated it when we didn't watch cartoons. I wonder why things like that can be so significant to children.

I had no idea I would enjoy Deep Space Nine so much! It usually takes a while for a television show to develop likeable characters, but I instantly liked every episode and character I saw. I watched two seasons in two days. That show was on autoplay while a brushed my teeth, did the laundry, and I stayed up into the wee hours of the morning watching it. #nerd

By the way, I stopped blogging for a while because the feelings I was having about my cat's illness were just too overwhelming and personal. She did recover after nearly a month of respiratory illness. We took her to a second vet who let us know that she wasn't in the final stages of renal failure. Eventually, she made a full recovery! :D