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Geoffrey Gould
Dream Journal 2010

Monday December 13, 2010 6:33am
Holiday snaps and car jackers

I arrive at a strangely constructed eatery with friends for a holiday-card photo shoot. We are to wear white Druidic robes, and as I go to change I realize I've left mine at home. Similar to a Dream Fade but not quite, I am back at a version of the [Montclair New Jersey] home, albeit with an extremely thrust front porch, with its tall pillars now farther out from the house.
At curbside I espy four men clearly stealing a car. They are wearing what appear to be burlap pullover outfits, and burlap sacks for masks. Suddenly one pulls his mask up, revealing his face, which I instantly deduce is a Very Bad Thing, as it means they can comprehend I can identify him/them. He does see me, and a companion removes his head-bag as well. Revolvers drawn, they advance on me as I stumblingly move towards what I consider to be the safety of the house, but movement is difficult.
I make it onto the actual porch; the first man fires but misses, and I pretend to be hit. Despite no silencers, the guns barely make any sound as they fire. Still the group slowly advances on me, as I've no place to go, and as they step-by-step ascend the porch steps, I realize they make sure to finish the job with to-the-head shots...

Saturday November 20, 2010 6:13am
Bullies and Water Slides

Apparently in some sort of vehicle I pass a tall, steep, massive water four-run water-slide that has six straight runs (no sideways curves), and they uniformly have three bends, so one would skid "flat" for a few feet beyond dropping again. The water on the slide is on full blast, resembling the strength of fire hoses, and a torrent of water mist rising up from it. From somewhere a "voice-over," as it were, explains that the water strength doubles to handle very non-humid days and dwelling interiors. I cannot figure out what it means by humidifying homes, as it's so large.
Standing near enough I can walk back, I am near a highway going underneath, as though I'm at the top of the highway exit onto local streets. There are several people nearby, as I remove a one-time-use camera from its packaging. Some small flat metal object falls from the packaging onto the ground. I notice there are several of these items, but before I can pick them up, even as I am leaning over to retreive them, a somewhat overweight teen loudly declares to his friends that I'm littering; planning to leave them there. He's quite brazen about it and obnoxious.
"Hey!" I say to him, about to tell him I am picking them up, but I notice he's deliberately pretending to ignore me.
"Boy...!" I actually shout at him to "get his attention," when he leans to his left to bring up his black-sneakered foot to kick me in the mid section.
He either does it slowly or I perceive it as slow, as I easily grab his foot and begin to twist, to demonstrate I can lay him out. He shifts, attempting to maintain his balance, as I warn him not to accuse me falsely of things, and I release his foot. The young bully regains his balance and tries the still-slow side-kick again. Realizing such bullies only understand the force violence they inflict on others, this time I fully twist his ankle and he falls on his face.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010 6:10am
Dream of the Dead...
A large seemingly natural formation of felled trees comprise some urban legend called the Devil of Valencia: one gnarled dark-bark tree fallen within branches of another, giving the impression of a massive skeletal figure reclining within the branches of the vertical tree within the outskirts of a marsh. Turning from this site I do not seem to notice this aspect of marsh now is within a house, partially resembling my Montclair [New Jersey] home.
My lifelong friend Paul Murphy is there, smiling away as always, along with Paul's father Ed and my father Robert, each of whom greet me warmly as I fail to remember that both men have been dead for years. Neither of the two happy men actually enter the room in which Paul and I stand; they remain in the hallway just outside the threshold, but at the hallway threshold we shake hands in greetings.
Nearby I hear a familiar tune, and as the two fathers have moved away deeper into the hallway, I leave the room via another door in which three or four (I presume) friends are watching a William Hartnell episode of Doctor Who on a very large widescreen TV. I do not recognize the episode, mostly as brunette Carole Ann Ford's character Susan is extremely blond for some reason.
I depart the room into a much larger room in which there are numerous people seated in clustered chairs, beyond which is another door.
I get aboard a small fully-electric motorcycle, and ride it through the far door, straight down a long corridor I recognize as being my old elementary school. I go as fast as I can without the volume of the still relatively quiet motorcycle getting too loud. Finally I reach an open classroom at the far end of the corridor, and realize my only option is to turn around and return back the same route. I do so, the start of this corridor of which is the small corridor from my childhood bedroom past the balcony overlooking my childhood home living room. At the time, I do not actually notice that this is the location; I am more concerned with the approaching security guard, not even caring it's Ray Romano, being a combination of seriousness and amusement.
He pretends to be authoritative but being Ray Romano, it's difficult for me to take him seriously. He intimates something supposedly threatening regarding a peculiar small candelabra he's carrying, but I finally decide it's a waste of time and I speed off back towards the room with the people near the TV room.

Saturday, November 13, 2010 8:13am
I am sitting near the stage right part of a stage; at my right is a small audience of Doctor Who fans. To a panel or such on the stage, I begin to introduce myself, "My name is Geoffrey, and I play the Master..." Before I finish my sentence, however, an audible wave of incredulous astonishment comes from the crowd, despite their near complete lack of movement.
Good grief, I think to myself. Do they honestly believe I am trying to pass off myself as Roger Delgado...?
I quickly speak louder to override their noise: "That is, when I'd 'CosPlay' at Doctor Who conventions," I stress. I would have my goutee grown out and go as the Roger Delgado incarnation of the Master.
The audience quiets down, now comprehending my distinction.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010 8:13am Germans, Annoying Gits and Simon Pegg
Simon Pegg (or someone who happens to look and behave just like a Simon Pegg character), has been kicked out of his roommate status from a house. I wait along with some other of his friends, as he comes from the house. "What about clothes?" someone asks him, as he's just on his own.
He realizes he'd just walked out, with nothing. As he turns to return to the house, I go with him to make sure there's no trouble. The house looks like my home from Montclair [New Jersey], except it's located in a wide, pretty barren piece of land.
We all but creep inside, but going through the kitchen we get what would appear to be a phone call, but it come through a white plastic 1950s type radio I'm carrying. It's "Simon's" girlfriend who kicked him out, and and apparently she's a Dream Character as she and I know each other. Simon keeps quiet, knowing the plan is to sneak into his room to retrieve clothes. The call, but through a radio, is all but speakerphone, so Simon and I cannot openly speak to each other. Suddenly he starts to pull a handfull of large kitchen knives from drawers to place in a small bit of luggage. I mime all sorts of negation expressions and that he should get a move on before we're discovered. I manage to remind him cutlerly isn't necessary, and he finally stubbornly heads upstairs as I carry the radio through which the girl is still talking.
Dream Shift (though possibly Dream Fade):
I am getting ready for some sort of talent show or Choose The Most Handsome sort of stage thing. A few contestants from previous years are there, one with a subtle handlebar moustache conveying his girlfriend suggested a main reason he doesn't win is due to the moustache, but he has no intention of sacrificing it.
My friend Dave Gold comes by to comment how good an idea that the hotel has a shuttle picking up people who are parking quite a ways away for free, but he wonders with amusement if they'll be shuttled back as well.
I need to check for messages, and from outside I head down some stairs into a large area that comes across as a parking garage but there are lots and lots of people milling about. I stand near the stairs to retain my cell phone signal, when I hear a strange noise. I glance behind me and three similar looking boys, all about my height, are standing there. One claims they were about to stand there, to make a call. I point out they were not there as I walked to the spot, and that I'd just be a moment, when a larger (while not taller) similar type shows up. Literally they come across as four brothers very close in age.
The four all wear white or cream sweatshirts with ornate red or burgundy college-logo designs. The spokesman for the trio tell the fourth that I "took" their spot, and the new one gets all confrontational. I'm in no mood for this and quickly but dismissively tell them to hang on, but the three continue their hang-dog expressions as the fourth starts what I'm sure he considers "smack talk." I start to get quite irritated and uncharacteristically make a scathing reference to his size. He goes to retort but I've been without food for some time that my little paunch is almost completely gone. He tries some attempt, but as I don't let words bother me... his don't either. As it is, I'm done with my call and I head over to a set of large wooden Viking dining hall tables in front of a large stone fireplace.
I note much of the feasting "litter" has been swept towards the center, so I drop a napkin or something on that. Nearby I see a row boat heading out with two people, one playing the sax and the other playing the trombone. Somehow I know they are the sons of the Viking king, and that whichever plays their family song the best becomes the successor.
Suddenly I am out in the water in my own little row boat that seems to move under its own power. I can see large fish beneath the water: dolphins and such, as two massive yellow fish breach the water and do a synchronis flip.
The water becomes land on which I'm standing, and a nearby small wooden building (about which I somehow know) has been demolished by some evil plans. With villianous henchmen in pursuit, I hastily depart with a German Shepherd on a leash.
We manage to evade them, but for some reason I know we have to return to leave the dog's choke chain or such. Despite such a dangerous choice, the dog and I head back and find the elevator to the basement. It's a small, almost service elevator, and I figure we are safe as the German baddies are out looking for me/us. The door reaches the basement and I have the choke collar in my left hand, but suddenly about five tall Germans in their 20s all get on board. I am so surprised that while deciding to brazen it out, I completely neglect for the dog and I just to get off the lift. The men do not know I am for whom they should be keep an eye out. They figure if I'm there I belong there, so they are very friendly, but they're speaking German, and I don't, apart from a very very few words.
The man closest to me smiles and says something to me but as I smile and chuckle, he's distracted by the dog.
"Das is mein hundt," I tell him, meaning to call the dog Yarra but I end up calling it Sarra.
The man laughs, across to a companion saying something I deduce means along the lines of people naming dogs strange things. I make a silly face and "agree" by miming with my finger putting a gun to my forehead just above my eyes and "shooting" myself. The young men all laugh in highly amused agreement, as I calmly retain my composure.

Saturday, October 23, 2010 7:06am
Mr. Badger's Wild Ride
Through a wooded area I am stalked by a giant catlike creature, which I am allowing to follow me so it does not hurt friends of mine. We come to a wide, clear watered bottomless pool, and I manage to get the cat to leap at me, causing it to plummet and sinks into bottomless pool, as expected. A large hairy hand emerges from the side of the pool and King Kong's head calmly breaks the surface. My brother stands nearby exclaiming, "So that's where he went...!"
On the street right nearby I am hastily offered a lift in a car and we drive through a multi-tiered parking structure, the driver trying to find best way out. Dream Memory tells me I've been through here before, and know my way around. Coming around a corner we pass science fiction people heading in to attend a convention; I spot my friend George Geller wearing Jedi robes, entering the elevator; he is with another man I cannot identify.
Were driving on the lowest floor, which I believe to be actually below ground level; I suggest the next level up when suddenly an opening is found and we drive through an area I'm not entire sure is for cars. But a small square archway beyond the seeming grassy park-like area goes onto a road onto which we turn right, up a hill. Instead of being in the car, I am now actually on a one-person sled of some sort, attached by a single tow cable to the convertable car ahead of me, which I note Tom Hanks is in the front seat.
The uphill road is akin to Coldwater or Laurel Canyons south of Ventura Boulevard, in terms of steepness and curves, but landscape-wise far more like Mountain Avenue in Pompton Plains [New Jersey]. On the first right curve, my unsteerable sled side-slams into an oncoming car, albeit the car literally is the side of the small sled. We immediately come to a very tight left, causing me now to cut across the grass in a straight line. In the passenger seat Tom Hanks looks back in horror, realizing they'd not thought about such curves. They manage to stop just before I get to the pavement, at which point I'd have had to cross the oncoming traffic, which itself has come to a sudden standstill.
I quickly carry the sled across the street, as an older man in a blue suit (who Dream Memory tells me is a film maker or writer), comes over to explain if he wanted a tragic scene, he'd be on the sled himself; if he wanted it comical, someone else would ride it. Somehow he takes ahold of it just as the convertable takes off, and the sled zooms off with him, slamming down and breaking, so now the man is only holding on to the handle and being dragged along painfully across the asphalt, his body flipping and crashing along as strangely he simply does not release the bar onto which he's holding.
I quickly carry the remains of the sled with me up (very obviously now) Mountain Avenue, coming to rest at a wide sewer drain across the road, which is now more of a trail. (The older gentleman is walking about, if stiffly, and essentially no longer involves himself in what is going on with me.) Above the drain at waist height is a metal bar, similar to a horse hitch, in the middle from which dangles something like a Lego Indiana Jones figure, dangling by a string. I remove it so the figure does not fall.
As I progress along the trail it becomes an interior corridor which gets less and less wide towards the corner up ahead. There are camera lights and equipment which I pass, as a Dream Character film maker friend is carrying the camera, the shots he wants being done, and our wanting to leave before traffic starts back up; apparently we're guerrilla film making something. I make it around the corner with the sled, as he makes it with the camera, and we head down the building corridor into which we've emerged.

Monday, August 23, 2010 6:31am
Chatting with the passed
Walking a corridor of a silent sport stadium, I emerge into the seated area, turn around and face upwards, noting that there sits my late father, in the top row at my 11 o'clock position. I walk up the aisle on awkwardly uneven steps and note in the same row directly in front of me sit several policemen. I also notice that they didn't seem to be sitting on a proper row of seats, as though it was under repair or construction, but they are using it anyway.
At first I believe I need to go beyond the policemen and walk behind them, but on reaching them I notice there is enough distance between their legs and the row ahead of them that crossing in front of them won't bother them. They also never move (not that I stop to really examine them), so I am not challenged or stopped. I make my way to my right to where my dad was sitting, his having seen me and waiting for me; I sit at his left.
Despite being in the same row as the unmoving police (which have the space of an empty row behind them), somehow Dad's seat is up against a fence, which in retrospect is the back fence of my childhood home, looking out into the backyard of the house behind ours. As we speak I observe Dad being very pallid and from his shoulder up to his cheeks has a fine, fresh spiderweb, its threads glistening despite the trees of our yard providing some shade. Seemingly very weak, he leans back against the fence. Of what dialogue we precisely speak has faded, but it was nothing profound; mostly it was my actually asking after his well being but his being cryptic in responses, and almost too weak to speak.
Dream Shift:
I enter what seems to be a delapidated cathedral, under renovation. There are numerous people milling about, one of which is a young girl. I notice numerous angelic statues and for a moment comically think of them as Weeping Angels, despite their not covering their faces. Somehow I am able to discern that these are indeed Weeping Angels and I keep an eye on them as I take the girl outside to safety.
On my own again, without my actually going anywhere (temporally), I pass a young woman who recognizes me; it's the same girl now in her twenties (neither of the two girls are aspects of a girl surnamed Pond ...), and she notices I've not aged since saving her.

Sunday, August 22, 2010 8:02am New dogs "acquired"...
On a dog-walk, my friend has me bring home her dog Dumbledore, but I notice halfway down the sidewalk to her flat that it's not her dog, it's another dog, with a very dark patch of black down its back. It also has a thin-chain lead, not Dumbledore's regular red nylon lead. Back at and entering her flat, with the dog I've just brought in there are two dogs along with Dumbledore. The second dog is even smaller; not quite a Pomeranian but similar happily smiley face. I take the larger of the two "new" dogs outside and try and go through its numerous metal tags on its collar and for a moment I'm concerned the dog is actually wearing Dumbledore's collar, but it's not, the ID tags are too many and little use. They provide no telephone contact numbers. I then notice a second, smaller collar on which is a white bit of fabric the size of a fortune-cookie fortune, naming the dog "Bartledore" or such, and a small phone number there.

Friday, August 13, 2010 6:09am Runaway van
I go to a rented black van, which is up on a garage-mechanic lift; I'm carrying a long pole at the end of which is a license plate which apparently is to attach the plate to the rear of the van. The plate is not very cooperative, and actually ends up sliding through some sort of slot. I go to the open van door, and as it's up on the lift, I have to reach up and grasp the steering wheel and pull myself up into the driver seat. Somehow the van is drivable (apparently it moves without having to come down off the lift).
It is very dark out, and the headlights are not on. I come to a stop sign and come to a stop and as I go to find the headlight switch, the van apparently stalls out, and the van starts slowly drifting backwards. The brakes won't work, and the van begins to accelerate. The automatic transmission stick won't move; I realize I have to turn the key to restart the engine for it to move. Finally the sequencing works and the van comes to a safe if sudden stop, having traveled backwards quite a distance at its high speed.

Thursday, August 12, 2010 7:13am Too many groceries
On board a large ship there's some sort of food dispensary, and a number of food stuff items have been laid out on a counter for me to take, pre-paid or such. Laid out there is some fruit, small boxes of stuff, and on the left, a large can of pineapple juice. I quickly notice a problem, and I point out to them I do not have a car, so no way to carry This Much stuff all at once. As the worker ponders this with some of her coworkers, I notice a small cardboard box, which I pick up from the floor and unfold, noting most likely it will hold the smaller lightweight stuff, and if I can't put the juice can into a bag, it'd still be carryable on its own.

Saturday, August 07, 2010 6:21am Leapin' Leopards
I am walking with Dumble on some lawns on a strange street, and three small leopards dart about more like energetic puppies than felines. I try to have them let me pet them, but they're both skittish while being playfully aggressive. Nearby is an opening to an open deck of the Queen Mary, on which the female owner of the small leopards picks up and holds one. I offer to its nose my hand to sniff as the small leopard stares into my face. I glance down at my left arm to see a large amount of blood; apparently I'd been badly scratched by their claws without realizing it, their having apparently raked across my shoulder and wrist. Oops.
(I'm not bleeding; the blood is just there as though I'd been wounded earlier and that for which it'd just not yet been cared yet.)

Thursday, August 05, 2010 5:02am Brief Lucidity
Ironically and somewhat annoyingly, I can only remember one small segment: I'm in a surreal version of the Montclair [New Jersey] Orange Road home, but the stairs and walls are so M.C. Esher'ed out that I actual recognize I'm dreaming. I climb the back stairs; even though they're so steep it's almost like climbing a ladder, I'm able to do so rather easily, even if a bit slowly. I feel like I'm in Inception, particularly as I rarely ever have such architectural issues such as strongly mis-angled walls and stairs.

Friday, July 09, 2010 4:51am Everything's recorded
I am at TV studio or sorts, awaiting my turn to be interviewed for a TV morning show. I am standing, facing the studio stage, behind me the studio audience. At my left just behind me is a bleacher filled with audience members; the bleachers behind me to my right are farther back, and I'm standing at the front right corner of this set of bleachers.
In front of me is a monitor, the current guest just beyond that, sitting in a tall chair, being mic'd up. The guest resembles Britney Spears but is not actually Britney Spears. As she waits, she turns and glances at the audience, smiling. She begins to start conversing in a friendly manner, to pass the time before her segment begins, when suddenly her expression changes, and she begrudgingly turns back around slowly. I deduce she has an ear piece, and the show's director just admonished her for speaking directly to the audience.
My segment is coming up, and looking in a mirror, I realize instead of a shirt I am wearing a similar black wool cloak I had back east I'd wear to Ren Faires, except this one lacks a hood, and the ornate pewter clasp is missing. The at-the-throat clasp here is very basic and cheap, similar to a cheap dress-back clasp. I step onto the stage and sit in a tall director's chair, facing the audience. Dream Shift: Next to me is a Dream Character who seems under the impression this is being pre-recorded for a segment in the evening, so he starts making references to it being about 8:30pm. I know it's airing live, so I say, "More like 7:30 or 7:40am..."
Our interviewer turns out to be the lovely and talented Olivia Munn, sitting next to the other guest, and she concurs with me, clarifying it's "more like 7:45," which predictably embarrasses slightly the guest sitting between us. Dream Shift:
Someplace else I am fitted with a microphone and "ear buds" that seem more like small webcam-headset microphones. I am then riding a bicycle along a road towards a somewhat steep street, the same male Dream Character bicycling alongside me. Looking at the suburban street, I make a MSTie comment about it being Riverdale, New Jersey, then realize I'm mic'd, and should watch what I say (e.g., not to sound too smart aleck'y).
An oncoming sidewalk pedestrian carries a large white placard, not quite as large as a sandwich billboard, but close. On it are colourfully stencilled words, and as I pass him I notice the top two words are "Hello Badger." I continue on but openly wish I knew what the rest of the placard reads. The middle-aged man carrying it never looked at me, just straight forward as he walked.
I turn right, which turns out to be a dirt road, and despite having nothing with me, I know I am on a (news)paper route. at my left I begin passing a chain-link fence-enclosed tennis court, with the green slats to provide privacy. I discover that I am barefoot when a small Bull Terrier dog being walked approaches me and licks my toes.
Dream Shift:
I'm in a version of the TV competition show Hell's Kitchen, but really the show itself, nor the show's facility. Wearing a yellow t-shirt, Chef Gordon Ramsey is not at the regular pass, but presents a table's ticket for food. Instead of calling it out, he gives the ticket to me and another fellow, Ramsay tell us we "get a couple of points" for calling it out ourselves. He reads it to us, but one of the dishes is French or such and its name seems unpronounceable to us, so we figure not to even try calling it, and as we seem to know what it is, just get that particular item ready.

Monday, June 14, 2010 5:53am Behind the scenes
I am booked on a sort of improv, unscripted sitcom, seemingly starring Jerry Seinfeld. I am being led to the set by an AD (Assistant Director), who gives me some low-down on the scene; my character is to enter (apparently a tavern) with a loud greeting and go from there. Over my shoulder I'm carrying an outfit in a dry-cleaning type bag, but it's more like thick plastic; my character carries about the outfit inside, liking it too much to risk wearing it or such. As he describes all this as we walk up a slightly inclined sidewalk, I notice I am wearing my Animal Control coveralls. While I am puzzled at this, I don't mind as it's drizzling a bit.
As we arrive at the door (stage lighting predictably standing about outside), I wait for my cue to enter. Suddenly the AD suddenly instructs me to get inside, but not for the scene: for something else he neglects to reveal. As I cross the threshold I notice the show hasn't started: it's sort of an Introduce The Cast to a/the studio audience. The difference is, there's only the sound of a studio audience. What's going on here is our lining up along a (rather small) green-screen. Having not been told, I have to surmise if there is a studio audience, they're either nearby or receiving a video feed. I step up next to the actor who'd arrived before me, and there are several people beyong him who were earlier, so I have to lean way in to be included in frnt of the green-screen, as I hear my name being introduced (so I get it that I'm very much a supporting player). I glance foward and see a monitor and see my face in full profile, and my facial hair is slightly grown out by about two weeks. I shift my gaze until I see a camera I believe is the one facing me specifically.

Monday, May 31, 2010 8:14am Acting work
I'm in an apartment which has much of the layout of my father's in-home office where I grew up in Pompton Plains. Water is coming in through ceiling from apartment above. Apartment manager Lynne and my mother are in living room; Lynne comes up and sees the damage. I snatch a roll of paper towels from of the surface when it falls over into the water filled sink.
Dream Shift: Filming an episode of Greeters, a tall blonde woman [cashier] bumps into me during rehearsal, regarding my (?) cash register. The woman is an actress in the scene and she asks me about how the scene is different than written, which I've noticed myself. I tell her normally I'd go with one's instincts, but based on results most likely her one line (for that segment) may be cut. I enter the office of the show runner Jerry White, realizing he has to know my hair is significantly shorter (from it being cut on from my working on a movie a week earlier); thankfully Jerry either doesn't mind or doesn't really notice. There's either a plain-clothes police detective or government official, pointing out a group of my [Dream Character] friends on a couch, and that having something to do with Hitler (bringing him back or something), they have put me in harm's way. Now that I'm out of harm's way, I'm apparently also in trouble, but they're unclear on that point.
Dream Shift: Attending Academy Awards, I have to sit in equivalent of background holding, with randomly placed folding chairs. Jack Nicolson and Al Pacino sit on such chairs against the wall, somehow this is where their tickets put them. In surprise, I point the previous year they were front row; Jack conveys they "rotate" how close to the stage one is seated, depending on that year's projects, and neither actor really did anything significant the previous year.

Sunday, May 02, 2010 5:43am Shipboard dreams

Normally when I travel my dreams are "regular," not confined to the hotel in which I'm staying. Also "normally" I rarely have dreams containing physical intimacy, and/or rarely even contain eroticism imagery or situations, my "horn dog" waking state notwithstanding. Friday night and Saturday night of this weekend I spent aboard the Queen Mary, attending a ghost hunters conference. Friday night I stayed in a different cabin than on Saturday night, and each night my dreams seemed confined to the cabin, even if the cabin had to "enlarge" to accomodate dream storylines. Without access to my computer until my Sunday night return, much of the storylines have faded, but some imagery remains...

I seem to bounce in and out of a character (e.g., I'd witness it from without, then I'd be the character, then seeing it from without, etc.). Wearing an elabotate feathered (Polynesian style) headress, he has (and is holding) his obviously erect (and lengthy) phallus, which is strangely angled, in that his right hand is about a foot from his pelvis, at which point it angles up at a forty-five degree angle; his other hand holds it about halfway up its three or more foot additional length... it literally has the angled shape of an ice-hockey stick, but it's perfectly smooth.
Even when I am its beared, all I can think of the impracticality of such an anatomical anomoly: into no female could it fit (though its girth would not be the issue), and even relieving oneself would clearly be quite a bother...
The second cabin in which I am sleeping is much larger, with a tall ceiling made of glass, similar to a mall or fast food restaurant. What at first I think are odd shaped clouds just above the glass are some sort of topiary exotic animals, but they are slowly floating by. While no clouds of which to speak, there is a slight rain, and I hope onto one spot on which the precipitation is not falling.
Two young ladies come to share my dry floor spot, and (as their hands massage the front of my khaki pants I am wearing, to which I am very much physically responding), they simultaneously also lean in and kiss me, doing so together, so technically they are each kissing half my mouth as their cheeks touch (so I am kissing the right half of one mouth, and the left half of the other one's mouth). Strangely, this long and lingering kiss gives the pronounced sensation of lips other than their mouths...

Monday, April 12, 2010 5:09am An unhelpful Karl Pilkington
I'm at some sort of a phone-bank job, near a wide exterior-wall window. An acquaintance places what appears to be a silver business card on the glass, but instead of sticking it drops to the floor. I pick it up and find one side has the current time, the other the temperature, each with raised letters. After a time these raised characters are no longer on the card.
I return to my desk and mention that I'd recently received a phone call from someone I didn't know. Suddenly it seems that Karl Pilkington is a coworker, and he gets it into his head that we're part of some secret-society organization and that I've been made or such, and I have to change my identity. Worriedly, he hastily ushers me to a small windowless office in the building, where another member of the secret society is quite unsurprised to have someone show up unannounced. He glances at my face and begins marking on it little lines and dots as a plastic surgeon would prep, whilst I try to get non-stop talking Karl's attention. He's gone into the corridor rambling on about something to someone I know whose name is Dom. I cannot get either man's attention, to indicate I feel this procedure might be a bit premature if not outright rash; that I would prefer a bit more information as to whether there's an actual threat before taking on another identity (let alone an invasive surgical procedure... in the middle of a work day). At one point I physically grab Karl's wrist and twist it, but still shrugging me off, he still won't stop taking.
I quickly steal myself away and manage to find Ricky Gervais, knowing he can handle Karl. He assures me he will, and I catch a bus to return to work, wondering how I managed to get so far from work that I need/ed a bus to get back, and whether I'd be missed as it was still middle of a workday. Approaching a traffic light, at my left I see in the oncoming direction an 18-wheeler truck, but its tires are on this side of the cement barrier, and the massive vehicle is being pushed along side by a man pushing it as easily as one walk along side a bicycle.
Dream Shift:
In a large Tudor style mansion, my friend "Young" Dan is having a bit of trouble getting a small alpaca to go behind the large mid-room staircase. Behind the staircase is a doorway, and the alpaca's stable or such is back there. Dan has a medium size dog shepherding the alpaca, which is about the same size as the dog. The alpaca rather stubbornly lies down, and the dog vertically jumps about five feet straight up in the air (apparently as part of its shepherding process). "He'll get it in," Dan assures me.

Friday, April 09, 2010 5:50am Pasta its prime
I place a small plastic container of canned spaghetti into a microwave. After its timer dings I remove the container, but someone nearby warns me, "That's going to take a while longer." I remove the top and sure enough, the spaghetti is still cold, only the very outskirts of the container is warm. I put in more water to keep it from going dry, and put it back in for another few minutes. I stop the microwave manually as the lid pops off from the steam pressure. I pull it out and it's very hot; I pour the contents onto a wide (cardboard disposable) plate, but now it's a massive blob of lasagna'esque pasta, the red sauce going from thin (for canned spaghetti) to super thick red chunks (a la lasagna or pizza).
I start to pull apart this bowling-ball sized mass and I suddenly hear cries of distress. From the mass I remove several people and set them aside (each of whom in their respective prime, 1980s ages): Glenn Close, Michelle Phiefer, the elderly John Carradine (of the 1940s Universal films, here in his later, 1980s years), and apparently, Tim Matheson, wearing a light blue knit turtleneck sweater with a zipper up the back. They are unconcious, and someone I foresee they are part of some elaborate scheme in which Tim Matheson makes a reveal later on, after the others have had a longer scene after waking up.

Monday, March 29, 2010 5:07am Too much sun

Backstory: the previous day I had a student film shoot, much of which was outside on a cloudless day.

As we are walking along a tree-lined sidewalk, my friend points out I have a substantial suntan of sorts from the day before. I look down and my hands to my wrist are a rich toasty brown but my arms are still un-tanned white, as though I'd worn long sleeves, which I hadn't. Checking in a mirror, I see that my face tan reaches down neck into a sharp V on my chest, as though I'd not worn an undershirt, which I did. While I am relieved I did not get a sunburn, I am puzzled as to why the tan I did obtain is in the pattern that it is.

Thursday, March 25, 2010 4:55am Shipboard camp religious intolerance
For some reason it has been strongly suggested I attend a summer camp, and its counselor or interviewer and I are speaking, apparently on the interior deck of a large ship. I am sitting in a comfy chair whilst he stands, occasionally pacing though not very far. His spiel has been going on for a while and he begins making references that I recognize as, as I call it, bonk-bonk-on-the-head proselytizing. I suspect he is implying there would be a lot of "Bible study" or such. While I don't mind Bible reading, I have issues with other people believing it is wrong to have personal interpretations, etc. As I am not a fan of religious intolerance, Bad Christian proselytizing tends to irritate me both awake and in dreams.
"What about people who... aren't Christian...?" I ask, offhandedly. "Do you accept them at your camp?" He looks at me, not having expected such an inquiry. "As I do have many friends who 'happen' not to be Christian..." I add.
Apparently I have caught him out as he is unable to answer or continue.

Monday, March 15, 2010 3:51am Burning Bridges
I am working for an ad agency of sorts, my boss or possibly even partner, "is" Jeff Bridges, but only in looks: in the dream it is not the actor. Here he's a head-in-the-clouds dreamer who comes up with ad-campaign ideas so detailed he decides to make them into movies or such, either blowing a pitch meeting or bring back the turned-down idea with intent to develop it. He enters and reports we lost an account as they didn't like his idea, but providing the storyline's details he knows it will make for a great movie. In joy and celebration he embraces me rather awkwardly, his arms beneath mine, lifting me and spinning so my legs rise up behind me, rather akimbo. His spirit will not be dampened, even with my pointing out the story is bare bones, that he lost another account, and had/has no Plan-B campaign idea, et al,

Wednesday, March 10, 2010 5:22am Rubbish and shuttles
Albeit not in the apartment but some room totally unfamiliar to me, my friend's dog Dumbledore comes up to me as I recline on a sofa; he leans up against the sofa so hard he liteally rolls up and onto its edge, then over me and to our mutual surprise, ends up having rolled right side up, between me and the back of the couch. Only a few moments later his Jenn enters the room, carrying several large plastic bags of groceries, but also slowly entering the room towards its center with slow side-steps, and facing away from us.
"Do you... need any help with that?" I ask tentatively.
"No, this is it," putting the last of the bags in the center of the room. Turning she exclaims, "You got Dumble on the sofa?"
"Just now," I inform her (Dumbledore used to be all of a lap dog, but slowly began omitting that behaviour, despite encouragement and enticements).
I have someplace important to which to go, but outside in the suburban neighbourhood, I have a small dolly on which is trash of which to be disposed. I wheel it down and around the wide circled cul-de-sac (resembling the cul-de-sac of the sitcom Cougar Town). I finally reach a large pile of rubbish outside a house just where the sidewalk is about to go straight again, and I leave my rubbish with that lot.
I depart for someplace important, and get on a shuttle-bus of sorts. As in a train or regular bus, the seats are half inverted, so I am facing the back, despite the van-like door directly next to me remaining wide open as we're driving. Unsure as to our location (and the shuttle's exact route, apparently), I consult a schedule I have in my pocket, which extends to about fifteen feet. I find the route-layout, indicating a bizarre set of start and stop points, as though it varies as to where is the precise beginning of the route, meanwhile while I am slightly concerned the wind may yank the schedule from my hand what with the open door, my left foot dangles precariously, yet I have no worries about that.

Tuesday, March 02, 2010 6:14amDogs and cats and laptops
With a group of people I walk along what seems to be eastbound on Franklin Avenue in Hollywood. We eventually come to a modest inn and enter. The group mills about like a tour group, as I head over to and sit in a large comfy chair by the lobby fireplace and apparently drowse to sleep as suddenly I awake in the same chair, discovering in my hands in my lap a small laptop, on the black cover in reddish highlights the words "Young and the Restless DVD/TV viewer." It even has the classic Y&R logo. Connected to it is a power cord; it's not even having been presented in its original packaging. I have no idea as to how it got in my lap; those around me are watching my reaction, as though it's a surprise gift, which it certainly is: I even convey how I worried I'd somehow brought home my work laptop without realizing it. Strangely though, no one owns up as to who gave it to me. My mother is there, and while she does not admit either to giving it to me or procuring it for me, she does relate such "inexpensive items" are available at some little known store several blocks over, and that a standard icon on the browser connects to their website.
Dream Shift:
I am on the eastern side of a side street to Mountain Avenue in my home town. A movie crew are all over the area setting up a shot for something. The lawn is covered in autumnal leaves and across the street I see a cat eating from my friend's dog Dumbledore's bowl. Dumble is with me, and without accompaniment simply crosses the (thankfully closed off) street.
"Excuse you," I say as he ignores me and crosses the street on his own accord, and quickly eats from his bowl. I am relieved not only that he is eating at regular dog speed, but the cat is absent (of late Dumble has been very reticent of eating all at once, and he's considered to be very Cat Unfriendly). Dumble soon returns to my side, and the cat (which resembles but isn't really a waking-life neighbour's cat), also comes across. Dumble ignores it and for a moment I figure he's about to disprove the theory of his wanting to kill cats... when the mostly beige tri-colour cat comes around the white picket fence, hops up between two of the pickets, and smacks Dumble on the head (presumably what with Dumble have eaten her food). Dumble reacts, ducking his head at the blow, but continues to ignore the cat, which calmly walks away.

Friday, February 26, 2010 5:21am Wildlife and the Galactica
I am bringing files to Commander Adama [e.g., updated Battlestar Galactica: I know he became an admiral, but in the context of this dream his rank is Commander], but the setting is the building of sorts in which I work normally. I get to the office but in the files the dark-brown one is missing, and I know that's supposed to be important. Behind me is a fat female receptionist watching me check to make sure all the files are there, considering they aren't. Instead of leaving those file I have brought, I indicate I can straighten them out elsewhere, and she's relieved to be rid of me,
As I head back through plaster-chipped hallways, a threesome set of villains try to steal the dark-brown (Top Secret) file (the lead gunman happens to resemble Ron Moore but I don't make such Galactica connection/s). I manage to evade them somehow
Two Dream Character friends walk with me, the girl (Starbuck?) indicates non-maudlin remoarse about leaving the place (where I work is moving to new office space in a few months). She and the male (who eventually I acknowledge as Lee), enter a large room in which we are provided with a small dolly cart on which are sealed cardboard boxes as well as a red pizza-box container (the sort that keeps delivered pizzas warm), in which are the three files, including the dark-brown Top Secret file Adamda needs. I turn the materials to Lee, urging him to take them to Adama, adding jocularly, "Say 'hello,' and give him a hug for me."
I take to the twisty halls where the villains try to follow me, so Lee and Kara can depart unaccosted. I can hear behind me soft gunshots, and I can feel the bullets just grazing my body painlessly as I make hasty turns into other corridors.
Dream Shift: I am in my own quarters, apparently, when suddenly there is a few of moments of weightlessness, as though the ship is slowing down or such, or making ready for landing.
I look out my large window down to an asphalt parking lot where I see a small brown bear pursuing a large snow-leopard kitten. I am concerned as the kitten is not moving fast enough, and the bear is almost upon it. Somehow I all but teleport down to the ground level where via loud noises and wide gesticulations, I drive off the bear. The snow-leopard appears to know me, as it quickly waddles over to me gratefully insisting on being petted, with which I easily reciprocate.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010 6:23am Apes and water tossing
I get off a shuttle bus with numerous others as background for something similar to but not a Planet of the Apes style project. Others walking regularly towards holding or such, I decide to be more In Character (I'm done up as a chimpanzee), so I jokingly sort of lope.
As though Some Time Later, an actual adult ape gets free of a small shack and sees me. Dream Memory tells me this ape is extremely dangerous, and it strangely wears a white-ish muslin mask loosely on its head. It slowly rises in front of me, its arms outstretched to embrace me, and I do not move, allowing it to hug me, as I'm aware if I resist it can bite or do worse to me.
Dream Shift:
In Willowbrook Mall back east, I am just off the main water-fountain hub area. I forget why but my wide-smiling mother happily hurls towards me the contents of a water bucket. Despite supposed to be hitting me in the face, her aim is off and the water hits my right side, causing me to back-step a moment, as my black UK-type school robes (as in the first two Harry Potter movies), becomes just heavy enough its right sleeve comeds off my arm and I have to struggle to get it back on. At my left my Culver City friend KC sits in a small store booth similar to a food court "store," but not serving anything; she's just sitting reading a magazine or such. My brother awaits his turn at water tossing, intending not to miss as badly.

Monday, February 15, 2010 7:22am Office mess and missed photo opps
I go down a small office hallway to a small video recording studio in which Dream Memory tells me the night before I worked. I know inside there is some sort of mess I need to clean up, but the closed door is now covered in some sort of green-screen material, despite still having paper notices on top. Another worker tells me the room has been reserved and I can go in later; I do not know if anyone else found and/or cleaned up the mess.
Dream Shift:
While waiting for a self-defense class to begin, actor Sean Connery is nearby; my longtime friend from back east Alison wants to get a photo with him but I realize my one-time use camera is with my stuff downstairs. I quickly pass Alison and I run down the carpeted red-with-black patterned steps and turn left to the main similarly carpeted landing. As I head down the main stairway I figure that it has gotten too dark to get a good photo (though I literally consider that while maybe a digital camera would work, its flash would over expose the faces), I also realize it's just 9pm and the self-defense class is about to start, and while Dream Memory does not tell me who is my instructor, I know said instructor does not like tardiness, so I run back up.

Monday, February 01, 2010 5:51am Backstage Shenanigans
In a strangely different environment that my regular workplace, my current immediate superior comes by and takes a seat next to me, asking me why I cannot make it to work on Wednesday. I am a bit surprised that she seems rather serious, for her. As I glance at my computer screen and wonder why the program on which I'm working apparently has closed itself, I remind her I am only out Tuesday; I will be in on Wednesday, as well as the rest of the week. She considers this and realizes this is okay.
Dream Shift:
Outside at a nearby news stand I see what Sunday newspapers are available. Among them I see the [New York] Daily News. I selecr A New York Times but a few steps away I realize it only consists of two sets of pages, most of them ads. I cannot find a stack of them so I just put them down as it begins to rain.
I walk to a large building nearby and enter, in which some guy is adjusting a lavalier mic and starting some sort of very affirmative presntation to what seems to be a cocktail lounge with theatre seats. I have no interest as I walk to the door below the apron of the stage to get to the rear of the building at which I know are camp-.dorms in which I know is my room in which I plan to get some sleep. As this is a long walk, I hear him speaks about something called "Wacky Episodes," which Dream Memory tells me is an aspect of recruitment to which I did not participate but others did, not very successfully. The presenter pretends to be positive but there is a sinister aspect to his talk, as apparently "Dualla" [from Battlestar Galactica] in the back of the auditorium, facing the stage, answers that they did some Wacky Episodes, to which the presenter politely demands to know the results. By this time I reach the double doors and push through, just able to hear her reply of how many guests they'd acquired. The presenter is not pleased, but I get out of earshot.
I walk across a wide lobby past a cast-iron staircase to another set of double-doors. Somehow I suspect my not being part of the recruitment drive will be looked on negatively. From the doors I see past the wide hallway of the dorms and see a large door on the opposite wall open, the size of a studio backlot sound-stage door. Somehow I suspect I'd best not be found for a while, let alone found in my bunk,
As I let the doors close I see a white unmarked vehicle, similar to an ambulance, passing the exterior door across the way and seemingly slowing down. I head back but the cast-iron staircase piques my interest and I go up its steep stairs, pass its landing about twenty steps up, then the narrower set of steps up to a wide backstage-tech type area. I figure this leads either to the tech booth or backstage behind where is the presenter on stage. I head to the door across the wide, if angled, balcony. Its angle is from the top of the stairs against the wall, then the balcony widens out. Before I get three quarters across the area, which is may fifty feet, I hear others coming up the stairs. I hasten back away from the balcony edge, towards the black brick wall, and squat behind a piece of machinery. It is not the best hiding place: it allows about 5% of me to show, but due to the layout I count on their not actually looking for anyone, and I am correct. Two men in their twenties come up, followed by a bespeckled blonde boy, and they simply head to the other door and go through without hesitation. The boy, however, passes me but does notice me, and he stops, his back to the door through which the others have gone. I reach out and mock-growl as though I'm some sort of monsters. As the place is not well-lit, the boy isn't sure what I am, and he panics and in fear flees to the door. I rush for the stairs. Actually amused and quite pleased with myself, I face away from the stairs and with my hands slide down the rails as often seamen in boats and subs often do. I manage to land softly on the landing, then take the other stairs down the same way, as up aove I hear voices of concern. The boy has brought out the young men, but I know I will be gone and out of sight long before they can catch up, and I wonder if they will think the boy was just seeing things or if think it was a ghost, considering how many theatres are haunted...

Thursday, January 21, 2010 5:45am Champ slate
Outdoors, I stand on my mark for a video camera perparing to slate me for an audition or such. Nearby there are a few other people watching respectfully as they sit at a one-unit picnic bench (e.g., the sort to which the benches are connected to the main table). Off to my right I can hear the familiar insistant barking of Champ. I make a humourous apology and suggest I bring out Champ so he'll be relatively quiet. The woman at the camera figures it's okay, so I walk around the building that was behind me, and find a set of five or six glass doors.
Champ is there, barking away, and I open the door for him. The doors are set with braces or such; large orange metal things almost like kick-stands, but they do not stay the door from opening outward, in fact they hamper the door closing properly. I am able to jiggle the metal so it slides on the floor, and it clicks into place at a hole for which it's designed as the door finishes closing. This only takes a moment as, as I head back, I watch Champ lumbering quickly to greet those at the picnic table, at his pre-meal walk-speed that he lost in the last few months of his life. He arrives at the table as I hear predictable vocalizations from those watching him run up to them, at how cute he is.
Thankfully Dream Amnesia negates my remembering Champ died 2009 Veterans Day.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010 5:42am Leader of the pack
I am walking down a rural path at night, passing a few domiciles at my left, and a tree line at my right. From the opposite direction, a woman jogs by, along side a trotting donkey which the woman is leading. I wait for them to pass at which point I continue on, going around a couple of parked cars. Once I am past the cars, a pack of about seven or eight large German Shepherds, both full and some mixes, suddenly rush at me, barking furiously. None actually attack; as I suspect, it's just a display of territorial dominance. They do not stop my progress; I notice one has a red leash, so I quickly lean over and grab hold of it. This causes the members of the pack to panic and fragment, as the dog whose leash I have caught, immediately submits to my dominance.
I come to my left turn and follow it, looking for where the dogs might go (as they're home). Most of Them are keeping their distance, but still barking at me. Eventually the dogs, one by one, break off their "escort" as I continue on with the dog I have on the leash.
After a time I come across a young couple at what appears to be a drive-through newsstand; beyond it cars whiz by on a highway. It's like they designed a patio to double for this. It is extremely well lit up. I approach and ask about the dog, if they know to whom it and/or the pack belongs. The pleasant couple does not know; they are more interested in my experience. I convey how dogs do not frighten me; my four year tenure back east as an Animal Control Officer, et al, as they happily listen to me, smiling almost inanely.

Thursday, January 07, 2010 5:11am Dalek attacks and nearly lost letters
I slide a letter into a mail slot on the side of a building but through the window I see it miss the box below and sail off to the right. I hastily run down the length of the building to the door, and enter. I hasten to where I figure the letter drop would be and find a strange grocery store-like area. I see the envelope and to get it I climb over a produce rack around which I easily could have walked. Meanwhile a blonde woman is upset with someone in the store (she is identical to Kristen Chenowith as she appeared on the episode of Glee). The woman has a thick Germanic accent and as I climb over the produce rack she quickly begin to relate to me that the store worker insulted her being German, even though the worker is German as well. Dream Memory tells me I met this woman the night before at some teacher faculty thing. The woman has spoken to me as she'd met me, as she desperately tries to remember my name, saying numerous as well as mispronounced versions as well.
"It's Geoffrey," I say, relieving her of her embarressment as I obtain the letter from the floor.
Dream Shift:
I am running through a series of white-walled corridors similar to the science building (as I knew it) of Ramapo State College in northern New Jersey. A young woman is with me, similar to Lea Michele (also of Glee: she plays Rachel). There is something Very Bad about to go down, and at one point I notice something on a side corridor wall. I rush down, Lea stopping and waiting for me at the junction as I approach a small-corner wall on which seems to be a white door-stop bumper, the sort one puts on a wall to prevent damage from a doorknob as the door would swing too wide. But there is no door nearby, and this is about seven feet off the floor, just above some white vertical file cabinets along the wall. I notice there are others but they are uniformly about five feet from the floor... this one is Different. As I continue to stare at it, I strongly suspect this has something to do with the forthcoming event that must be stopped, and somehow deduce it is a warning light (?!) when the event counts down or has happened or such.
Lea and I eventually find out way to outside. A man there tells us of his home being invaded; as he tells his tale I can visually see it as though I was present: through the living room window I can see two Daleks approaching the front door. As this is a flashback (and someone else's, at that), the viewscape is peculiar, and the Daleks are seen as and with bright red outlines as though an old video effect removing the details. I am able to get away just as the two Daleks burst through the door; I hit the deck around the corner with just enough space in front to see them glide by about three yards from me, and hear their familiar, trademark battlecry. Suddenly I hear them repeat obviously received orders, to return to their ship, and they depart with no further destruction on their part.

Tuesday, January 05, 2010 5:10am Chainsaw Man and the M...
By invitation, I am attending a big film premier or such, but I am not the main guest. I am one of at least three. The two others were strange monstrosities but only on the outside. One was billed as Chainsaw Man: a well-toned muscle-armed blue skinned man with chainsaw blades from his elbow joint to the end of his arm; where would be a face is the face of a marlin. The lower part of the other's face seems to be constructed by a wide thick red Letter M, with bits of cilia along its outline, like the M is the upper jaw, within the top of the M the sunked eyes are almost Ood-like.
I am pleased to see Chainsaw Man as appparently we are friends; with the M guy I seem to more of an acquaintence. Chainsaw Man seems not quite three-dimensional, as though he was a two-dimensional mobile Wondermark drawn art character.
I head down far left aisle of the red-velvet'y cinema auditorium, many of the seats filled with waiting people, but for some reason realize I am too early. I head back to the lobby and around to sort of a sterile metal kitchen environment in which Nicolas Cage is stripping entire sides of meat from massive bison like creatures. Literally, from its spine downwards he is rolling the meat clean from the bone, and no organs within, as though the edible meat is merely resting on the creature's skeleton. The roll is similar to rolling a rug, only downwards, with the moist sound effect of the meat coming free. He explains what and why he is doing it, but Dream Fade has taken place so I cannot recall.

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