Tag: dreams

Dreams of Death

I died in my dream last night. And not a death at the end of the dream that snaps me awake, but a death at the beginning of the dream.

I was at Staples, and something happened. Not sure what, but I died. Scott found my body and was seriously freaked out by it. I was brought to the hospital, and was still sort of alive, but then I died, and was standing next to my body, a ghost.

I followed the doctor as she went out to tell Judy I was dead. She was upset, but I spoke to her, telling her I was still around. At first she couldn’t hear me, but eventually she could, and I was able to talk to her.

I knew that my body could be repaired, that I could come back to life, but that it was risky, because it would take a week to repair my body, and most spirits faded out after 3 or 4 days. I explained to Judy what needed to be done to my body to get it working again, and she agreed to take care of it.

Then I was on the beach, walking over the sand dunes with Snooj. He thought I should move on, that it was too risky to try to hold out for my body, that I should embrace the next plane. I nodded and pretended to agree with him, but I was still planning to try and last long enough to get back to my body.

I knew that if I failed, one of two things would happen, either I would dissapate completely, or I would lose my memories and become a haunt, thumping around between planes, bumping against reality like a moth against a windowpane, barely noticable but disturbing.

As time went on, I began to weaken. I watched over the proceedures done to my body. As I was about to fade away, I remembered something, some key truth that gave me power, and I re-formed, stronger than ever.

Finally my body was ready, repaired and in a temporary coma. I flowed back into it, feeling stiff but back on the material plane.

Then I woke up.

It left me feeling oddly refreshed, with an appreciation for life, and a carpe-deim sort of mood about me.

Dreams of Gothic Real Estate

Had a strange dream last night. I forget most of it, but the last part went like this:

Neil has a house he is trying to sell. It is a large black Victorian house. I’m not sure where he got it, but he’s having a hard time selling it, so I go out to take a look at it. There are rumors that it is haunted or something.

It is a large, imposing structure, looking like a cross between a Victorian house and a church. There are large windows, the kind that are tall and rectangular and taper at the top to an arch, and divided into cells like stained glass. Except they are not stained glass, they are regular glass, and a number of the panes are broken. I wonder how much it will cost to replace all those custom panes.


Kind of like this, but without the tower, and add on an Addams Family type Victorian house section.

There is an old hearse in the driveway. I am convinced the house is a converted funeral home, but I am told it used to be the headquarters for a circus. When I go up to the front door, it has a brass plaque, saying something about the circus and the owners. I go inside.

It is set up like a museum, with an area for walking and displays on either side. The displays are plaster reliefs proclaiming the wonders of the circus. They are in the style of old woodcuts, but in high relief and painted in bright, glossy colors. One of them shows women whispering to one another. “If you hear, you’ll wish you’d seen!” the text below the women declares.


The style of the illustrations, although the composition had kind of a WWII propaganda poster feel.

There is a large sign pointing downstairs that says “See the blast site! Actual soil samples!” with a picture of a jeep in the desert or savanna. The people in the jeep look like they are going fast over bumpy terrain, they are holding onto their hats and pith helmets. I get the feeling it is something about World War One in Africa. There are two stairways going down, they both look like they go to the same landing. I take the one on the left.

The lower level is even more like a museum, with glass display cases, descriptive text plaques, and buttons you can press to start a narration or animation. The first one is like a huge terrarium, but filled mostly with dirt. There is a robotic arm with a scoop attached which is poised to scoop some of the dirt, like a mars rover. I press the button to start the display.

The display case lights up, and the robotic arm scoops some dirt into a container. A woman’s voice comes on, describing how the soil is from the original site where the bomb went off, and goes on to say something about soil analysis and stored memories.

The next display has a microscope and some flower petals. When I press the button, the flower petals flutter, blown by an unseen fan. The lights come on, but are flickering. A display screen comes on showing the microscope’s view, but I’m not sure what I’m looking at. The woman’s voice starts, but there is something wrong with the recording. “Conspiracy theorists believe… Conspiracy… Conspiracy theorists beli… Conspiracy th…” the voice repeats endlessly, stuck at the beginning of the lecture.

Before I can explore the rest of the exhibits to figure out what it’s all about, I wake up.

King of Germany

I had a strange dream last night, partially based on watching The Jacket last night for movie night.

The dream was:

I am King of Germany. It is a figurehead position with no real power, but it is still a prominent position. I have just been appointed King, so not many people know yet that I am the new King.

I arrive at the castle. A cute security guard stops me, putting her hand on my shoulder. “You can’t get in there,” she says, “you need security clearence.”

“Like this?” I ask, putting my hand in the slot carved into the stone wall of the castle. A confirmation beep sounds and the steel door unlocks. She gives a little gasp. “Yup,” I beam, “I’m the new king.” I stride forward, but slip and fall on my ass. The walkway up to the metal door is a slick glass surface which slants upward. She holds out her hand, and I smile weakly. “Not that impressive,” I mumble, “I should have said something like ‘oh, you mean it only opens for the king of the frickin’ country?’ and *then* put my hand in the slot.” She giggles and helps me to my feet, and guides me up to the door.

I go inside, where there is an entry area. My personal assistant, another pretty woman, is there. She is the older sister of the security guard. She welcomes me and introduces me to the staff. There are a few generals whose names I forget, and a shifty-looking man in a dark brown overcoat. I can tell right away the shifty man is plotting against me. He is tinkering with a bomb-disposal-type robot. He reminds me of Rotwang from Metropolis.

I settle in as King, and things progress well. I have a relationship with my personal assistant, and I keep an eye on the shifty man. One day I overhear him plotting with one of the generals. They plan to assassinate me, I realize that I will face three challenges to overcome their plot. But since I know what they are plotting, I have the upper hand.

Then, I am poking around in the library, and discover a long-lost secret. The woman who is my personal assistant is actually the rightful heir to the throne. And I now have all the documentation to prove it. But first I will have to defeat the plot against me, as it’s due to happen tomorrow.

The day of the assassination. I figure out the codes to get into the air ducts. The ducts are not metal, but adobe or a lighter clay. They are a series of small round rooms connected with shafts. The rooms are not large enough to stand. Ahead is a walled-off section.

I know this is where the robot will pass through. I empty my pockets and realize I didn’t bring anything useful with me.

I see the bricks moving, and the robot breaks through the wall and rolls in. It has a triangular base with triangular tank treads, and an arm atop that. There is also a tube sticking out of the top, which has a camera that can be swivelled in any direction for remote monitoring. The robot is armed with a gun. The plan was to have it shoot me from a hiding space in the ducts, but I have intercepted it.

I fight the robot. It is pretty strong but clumsy. I manage to disable it, but the shifty man has moved the camera around remotely and has seen me. He knows that I know about his plan.

He is coming to get me. He arrives at the broken wall, he has a machinegun. I raise my hands, unarmed. He is about to shoot, but at that moment, the robot shoots him. I had taken the few moments before he arrived to reprogram the robot.

I take the gun from the robot and the machinegun, and find the general, and kill him.

The plot is undone, I have succeeded. Suddenly, someone hits me from behind. I slump to the floor, unconscious.

Some of the staff have tied me up. They have put me in a straightjacket and tied me to a seat in the back of a flatbed truck. I am facing away from the cab, and they are in the soundproof cab, talking, but despite the fact they are behind me in a soundproof cab, I can see and hear them. They didn’t know about the plot against me, so they think I have gone mad and am just killing people randomly.

They discuss putting me in the box, the morgue cabinet from The Jacket. I scream “no, no!” but they can’t hear me through the glass.

While they discuss my mental health and what to do with me, figures emerge from the shadows. It is another general and a couple soldiers. They were ones I had overlooked, co-conspiritors of the shifty man that I hadn’t known about. They have my assistant with them, she is brusied and they are shoving her around roughly.

“I found out,” growls the general, “I found out about the book.” He is referring to the book explaining her lineage. “I can’t allow the balance of power to shift.” He spits on the ground. “This is your fault, for digging around.” He turns and shoots my assistant three times in the chest and stomach. “Noooooo!” I scream, but it is too late.

The staff in the cab still don’t know anything because of the soundproofing, they don’t even realize they have been locked in the cab and can’t escape.

The security guard comes running, but is stunned by the sight of her sister dead on the ground. The soldiers tackle her and strip her clothes off. “We’ll have some fun with her,” the general smiles wickedly, “and then she’ll have to go, too. But first, let’s end this.” He raises his gun. I struggle against the restraints, but can’t move. He fires thee times, shooting me in the stomach and chest. My vision gets oily and blurry, and I see the security guard being dragged off by the soliders, who are laughing. My head lolls to the side, and I see there is a bomb in the flatbed, to destroy the truck and the staff trapped inside.

My vision goes as I fall unconscious, as the bomb begins to beep.

I wake up to my alarm going off.

Despite the dark themes, the dream never had the feel of a nightmare, it was more cinematic and felt like a dark action movie.