Thursday May 17, 2012 6:59am Locked away with open doors and Fringe benefits
It turns out that below the house currently in which I'm domiciled has (at least at the date of this entry), or had, a cellar (in real life, only dirt-crawlspace beneath notwithstanding). Somehow a female Dream Character friend's sibling accidentally locked himself downstairs, along with his girlfriend, for several days. Somehow no one had remembered about the cellar and no one had gone to check. The forgotten door was broken and my friend and others ran downstairs.
After the girl was brought up, carried within a sheet, I descended the wooden stairs and reached the bottom to see that on the far wall was a large wooden risen garage door, which Dream Memory told me led to an open space about two or three stories high. As I puzzled about this, my friend suddenly reaches the stairs, carrying her brother in a large quilt. To assist, I quickly took the other end (not noticing at the time that the other end was apparently floating as though being carried by an invisible person), and we carrying him up the one flight to outside. At first we are convinced they have been dead for a day or three, but after a few moments they begin to move and show signs of life.
I had to ask him why neither of the two didn't just to the open door to the outside and, even with no way down, why did they not shout for help, but he had no sufficient answer.
Later:
I am running in a large, white-walled warehouse from which I am escaping, I not know from what or who. There is a large wall-sized door ahead of me but it is closed; at the right of it is a regular door through which I dask. Once outside I see a second wall-sized door beyond which is wide open, but apparently to the warehouse sector beyond the room through which I'd just run.
The FBI arrive, and the storyline seems to be that someone is hiding some sort of Very Special trading cards, and they're hidden someplace in the seemingly empty warehouse. One agent orders everything to be opened, even candy. I see what appears to be a craft services trolly, and a pile of Payday bars thereon, but they've been Gone Through: each opened and callously tossed into the pile. As I consider whether they can be salvaged, a tall man comes over to me, carrying a handful of Trading Cards to report having found some. I know Olivia would want to see this, so I have the man follow me through the room of searching agents as I call out. "Liv! Liv!" I call with surprising familiarity; it's not like I'm Peter or part of her regular team.
I reach the far wall and inside are some witnesses I believe (in the dimly lit room they resemble Aardman Animations style stop-motion characters), and three of their cell phones start to ring, with their utter horror. Somehow like they, I know the caller is the ringleader (Bell?), and their answering any of their phone/s would be a Very Bad Thing.
"No no no no...!" one cries desperately to one in the room I cannot see as the wall is in the way, but apparently that one does answer the phone.
Knowing this is Bad, somehow, I shout out, "Out! Out! Everybody out: NOW...!"
I run towards the large open truck-dock door as I feel sensations in my flesh like the pins-and-needles effect of a limb "falling asleep." I recognize much if not the entire building is about to be transposed, and I see the edges of the docking bay start to glow blue with grid lines, like a holodeck image breaking down.
I run several yards and turn in time to see the building shimmer and whoosh out of existence, though I know it's "merely" been transported to the Parallel Universe.

Wednesday, May 02, 2012 7:11am Wheelchairs and New Worlds
Actors Michael C. Hall who plays Dexter on the show time series Dexter, along with Jennifer Carpenter his real life wife who plays his step-sister on the show, are together, apparently with some grumbly reluctantance preparing to do promos for the series. While details have Faded, this aspect goes on for quite some time.
Later:
The world is ended to such a point that a large group of us somehow have fallen in with those who know an interdimensional way out, as it were. Not everyone is willing to take this risk. A scientist realizes the only way to break the stalemate is to ask who is actually Willing To Go, and as most of the hands go up, he instantly calculates that those willing to go to this new world woud suffice. As he moves his wheelchair over to the side of the room, I notice he's a somewhat older, very ruffled David Tennant, gone a few days unshaved, his hair disshelved, and wearing what essentially could be William's Hartnell's outfit, without the jacket.
We're instructed to use the special vehicles to head out; I'm by the front as a super fancy black car pulls up (apparently on its own as, as the doors are open there is no one is inside). It is very sporty and futuristic, though not in Back to the Future sort of way. A young man hops into what normally would be the driver's seat, a young woman rides shotgun as I go to get in the back right door. A long haired black dog hops into the backseat (like a small husky), and I call out to a girl (a Dream Character apparently), but it seems she is farther down the queue. Another young man hops into the other side and I get in. The car starts to move along as I realize and point out another person can fit between the two of us in back, but the car keeps going.
As we proceed down a ramp as though out of a parking garage, I posit that we were not informed what to do once there, and what sort of currency might we have to use. The young man in the driver's seat suspects we might have to develop our own economy once there. There are other cars ahead of us somehow, and the transition between here and the other world apparently "isn't shown," but it would appear to have been via similar to driving through a Stargate sort of thing.
Later:
Longtime living in the other world, I am somewhat In with those in positions of power, as it were, including but not limited to, its main leader, who resembles David Strathairn (also using a wheelchair). Somehow someone plans to set off a bomb or something major and no one has been able to figure out how to stop it. The leader/president has accepted the situation as inevitable. There is a large celebration (albeit seemingly somber in nature), taking place in a large auditorium, and I wheel in the president, carefully but easily navigating the steps down. The place is massive, filled to capacity, but silent. The man whose wheelchair I am bringing down the carpeted steps commands great love and respect; he clearly does not demand it.
Eventually I come to about halfway down and head to the left, where it's a wide dock of a ship. He is laid out on a long table as the wide, cloudless blue skies overhead cast bright light down on us.
Without seeing it happen, the president is now a medium sized poodle, as a good friend of mine (seemingly shifting between friends Nick M. and Micah C.), slowly and gently pulls a wide cloth on which the poodle is lying on its side. This is done slowly and with precision, almost ceremoniously. Predictably, the dog reaches the edge of the side of the table and plunks heavily down onto a metal chair below.
"Good grief," I admonish as I hurry over. "Why didn't you say what you were going to do and that you needed help? I'd have held the other side." He does not answer, but the dog is up, as the blue polo-shirted captain enters; he is portly and pleasant (a very slight resemblence to actor Timothy Spall but mostly a a frame of reference), and the president-as-poodle bounds over as though greeting him.
The captain points out that in this form the now-mobile president essentially thinks along the lines of a dog enough not to worry about the non-injurious fall.

Wednesday, April 13, 2012 6:51am Accurately wrong deductions
I am staying at hotel for some sort of event that may have ended. I know I've been having some major issues with management, but in retrospect I do not know what. In my room, I am wearing a white t-shirtand... that's it. I find all manner of Stuff in the room, as though I'm in a room whilst it's being renovated. I am weary of the problems with management, and standing at the large white door to the room I lean my head against the door, when I notice it's being gently unlocked from the other side.
I throw open the door to see a matronly woman in retrospect she resembles Rue McClanahan in a Trelawney-esque set of eyeglasses. She is startled that I have caught her trying to enter my room, and with a horrified gasps she backs up a few steps, then turns and walks away quite hastily. I call after her accusingly, demanding to know who she is, why she's entering my room (wearing a pants suit, she clearly is not a maid), but she does not answer my inquiries nor turn as she hastens away. I suddenly notice the white doors to my room are doubles, as though I am in a large suite, but the door in my hand is not actually connected to anything, and even lining it up with the other regular door, the doorway width is wider than the two doors together. A tall door-thickness piece of wood leans against the wall as to to accomodate the loose door not reaching the door jamb. I working at setting the loose door up with the other door, so the doorway/entrance to the room is "safe," as it were.
I do not realize until retrospect that the door I opened was the "wrong door," that is, that if double doors, it would have been the right door with the mechanism on the left side of the door, and the loose door I ended up holding, despite being the same door, "became" the other door, either with the mechanism on its other side, or no mechanism which would be within the other, closed double-door.
Suddenly two young women espy me and somehow believe I am part of a film making conference going on. One of the two girls doing most of the interacting is very attractive, with very dark hair, glasses, and a well-curved, filled-out white t-shirt. She does much of the talking, not much of which I wish to contradict. She asks what I do in the Industry. "Apart from talent," I start. "I've done some script-editing, photography, and directing" (when I said script-editing I was using the wrong term: I meant script-doctoring).
She is impressed and highly flirty, and somehow believes I am visiting from Canada, and considering moving to Los Angeles. "Well," I say, not really correcting her. "I have a permanent rental box in Sherman Oaks."
She all but squeals that she "guessed corrected," and she insists on giving me her information, despite never indicating what she does (in the industry). She then suddenly holds me extremely close to her as she slowly and almost erotically begins to write her information on a small white card, but as I carefully enjoy the pleasure of her contact, I risk "mistakently" brushing against her ample breasts and either she doesn't notice or she enjoys it, and I began to caress them a bit.
As she finishes writing down her information I ask her if she'd like my card, which she does. I walk up some stairs next to my room that lead to a side entrance to my room (on a slightly higher floor, it seems), along the top of which next to the door (accessable to all), is a rack of my clothing, much of which in real life is in storage. The girl has slightly followed up the stairs, seemingly unaware that beside a t-shirt, I'm not wearing anything. She gleefully starts making rather ludicrous deductions about me based on seeing some of my older camo jackets, declaring I'm part of some Special Forces unit or such, as only one would wear a specific jacket. I choose not to reveal many were bought at army-navy surplus stores, and my larger NATO jacket was purchased at a Maryland Goodwill due to the express fact the name-tag still sewn on reads Delgado.
I give her my card, though noting the breast pocket from which I take one is seriously torn, and it's amazing they've not fallen out.

Friday March 30, 2012 5:52am Off the beaten P.A.T.H.
My brother, mother, late father and I are headed to my Uncle Donald's for Christmas, strangely by way of public transit. We're on a transit train to the New Jersey P.A.T.H. train for some reason, even though it comes across as a cross between a subway car and an MTA bus. We get to the open-air station we need, and having been sitting right by the door, I quickly gather up a package and jacket and such, the doors only open for literally five seconds and then close, my family already out on the platform.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa....!" I exclaim as two or three uniformed cops allow the doors to close too quickly (e.g., somehow they have access to opening and shutting the doors, not the engineer), leaving me trapped on the train. "This is my stop!"
"Sorry," one of the maliciously grinning cop lie, as the others chuckle. "Gotta be faster than that!" he says as the train slowly begins to move on.
The train goes underground so I have no signal with my phone. I sit silently, starting to work out in my head how best to handle this. Should I get off at the next stop and head back to the right station, or is there an alternate route I can get to get me to Teaneck?
I await having a phone signal so I can call my parents, then use the bus route page on my Not-Smart Phone (despite it would not be able to provide transit information outside of Los Angeles).

Thursday March 29, 2012 7:47am Lost Lines, Small Fires and Wandering Critters
There is a large row of structures that resemble old wooden outhouses, but the age-worn grey walls are more cubed, as though the asymmetrical buildings are larger with multiple sides than just four. A small two-foot high creature (along the lines in shape, colour and size of a Critter, without the dangerous aspects: this is just a small biped creature), emerges from its back door at the edge of a long cliff; the creatures heads to to an actual small outhouse resting on a stand-along natural column as though from a Dr. Suess illustration. My vantage point shifts and I can see there are a row of such buildings and free-standing columns behind them each with their own outhouse.
I walk away from the cliff face through a break between an old building. Beyond reveal I am in a parking lot of what appears to be an abandoned gas station; an open area, roofed where the pumps used to be.
Passing by the pump island. I see on a small wall an electrical or fuse box with a loose hinged top, the door loosely leaning out a few inches. I gently push it but instead of latching there is a slightly whoosh noise, as flames emerge like a stove flame has been lit. I glance behind me and see a standard CO² fire extinguisher at the fence. When I reach the spot I find where one used to be: the one I saw it not there. From the new vantage point I see a cop car down at the end along the fence. I walk down and see what seems to be a small film project packing it up. Beyond the cop car are two cars with one fellow packing up the first car and someone else approaching.
I go up to the two cars and see Jim Carrey packing stuff in the trunk of a red sports car and note he has small hand-held car-emergency fire extinguisher, just as I ask if anyone has one. They follow, inquiring as to what kind of fire: "Small electrical box; wiring," I tell them. By the time we get back the fire is out, in fact no real evidence there had been one,. "Huh," I say as we approach. "Looks like it went out on its own."
Dream Shift:
I am performing at a town meeting of some kind, the room having a small stage, giving the strange impression of a smaller version of the Studio Playhouse stage and seats, mixed with/as an even small version of the stage in the Pequannock Valley School gym stage.
I am prepared and Dream Memory has me recalling my flawless performance in rehearsals; I go up on stage and immediately realize I cannot recall my first line. I pause but nothing comes; as I look at the pleasantly expectant audience, the seating and room now looking far more like the Studio Playhouse, I figure that I know the gist of the speech so I completely improvise and paraphrase it, about three quarters of the way through I see in the mostly filled audience a large matronly woman clearly following the script and she is completely confused, so I know I'm not even close with the actual lines.
Dream Fade takes the rest.

Thursday, March 22, 2012 5:20am The Hunger Games
I read The Hunger Games trilogy (The Hunger Games, Catching Fire and Mockingjay) in mid-2011 while awaiting the first film, scheduled for its March 23rd 2012 release. I did not expect to dream it, even if a dream-like version.
Somehow I am a participant in (a version of) the Hunger Games; the venue being an abandoned factory, and it would seem to be present day Here.
My Tom Selleck lookalike friend Frank from years ago is also one of the participants. Along with some other fellow they have a red sports cars, possibly a Lamborghini, and the three of us have planned to make a run for it from the loading dock. As we prepare, I notice from my peripheral vision, someone is tracking us; someone from outside the game.
Frank is not driving, but as I get some object into the trunk and close the lid, the car peels out. Left behind, my suspecting they will return when I am unprepared, I instantly decide I'd best take cover and race back into the building.
Dream Memory tells me I am well aware of the building's layout from previous experience. I head down a small set of concrete stairs and come across a middle aged man. Both of us are unarmed and suddenly neither of us know whether to actually make a move against the other hand-to-hand, so we simply take off in opposite directions.
I come across the man I earlier glanced, and find it is Norman, a friend with whom I used to commute to work when I worked downtown from to from about 2008 late 2010. We exchange pleasantries, neither of us planning to harm the other as we're friends, but he posits I can help stop this by killing the leader, and that he can help; that he's part of the Resistance. Too concerned for my immediate safety, I agree to speak with him later if I survive, and I head back up the steps
Reaching the loading dock level I notice a small metal ladder which I take, leading up the side of all the metal piping. It reaches a crawlspace catwalk of three sides; the side to my left being exposed, from which one could easily fall if not careful.
While I feel I could be safe here as it'd be difficult to see me, I continue on to the end where I find I have a view across a distant green valley. I make my way up at the end of the catwalk to what would seem to be an easy to defend safe room.
Dream Fade takes the rest.

Sunday February 05, 2012 4:15am Funnier in my head
Nearby, my late father is playing cards with my friend Gail, where he claims to have two flushes, one of which is a straight.
I glance over as he lays flat the two sets of cards onto the green cushion of the wide sofa on which they're playing. "How do you have two flushes in one hand?" I ask, as my brother sits nearby as well, though reading a book, not playing cards.
Dad explains they're playing Texas Hold-Em (a game I don't play nor the rules of which I've not been able to understand). Somehow I am amused and "remember" a dream which I decide to relate to him, in which my Dad at some point had suddenly proclaimed, "Vegas! We have to go to Vegas!"
My brother Alan had asked, "Why?"
"I've figured it out! I have 'a system'!" Dad had said.
Alan had paused and just replied, "Yeah, let me know how that works out for y'..."
As I finish relating to them my dream, I expect amusement but only receive puzzled blank stares, as though a tumbleweed should roll by.