Dream Warriors

[Killer Goldfish]

I dreamed all night that I was at work. The last thing before the alarm went off, a co-worker expressed concern that I was going to have time to take lunch. I looked in my appt book and saw that I had stuff starting hours before, at 7 am, all the way through until 7 pm, and had missed everything I was supposed to do so far, had just scratched them out. I was dimly aware that it was 12:30 or 1. "I guess I'm on lunch now," I said but I still didn't do anything but stand there in the throughway, not making a move.

The only other piece I remember was sitting in conference room 6 with a set of parents. Dad was a young bearded hipster guy and mom was a middle-aged business type. As I blathered at them about who knows what, I heard a faint splashing sound I couldn't quite merit. Mom leaned across the table towards dad and asked him accusingly whether he'd just peed on the floor and he sort of shrugged and calmly said yes. With the keen insight of dreamers I saw at once that the guy was too passive and helpless to even ask where the restroom was and found this to be a less uncomfortable option for him. Strangely I was not aware that they even had a child, when I would normally be working with the kids in the family.

I think I need a vacation...

[Killer Goldfish]

This morning I had an anxiety dream about preventing kitteh from starving while I was gone for 3 days at a conference I am NOT signed up for.

[Lemmy Caution]

The dream machine has been revving up big time. This, of course, gives me lots to ponder (as well as discuss with my analyst). I'm just going to dump a few random images/scenes here for the good and/or entertainment of the order.

• A dream episode in which I was going to assist at a surgery to remove the fire-producing glands from a very much alive and awake dragon.
  
• A dream episode in which I was at my headshrinker's office, but instead of him being there, I had to deal with a robot/snake cyborg critter.
  
• A sexual dream episode, in which various women--none of whom I've actually met out in the waking world--were expressing interest in me, though no actual sexual activity took place. This was interrupted by a conversation in which I said "Shit, now I have to start all over again".

So I know something is happening. But I don't know what it is (yet).

[Killer Goldfish]

This dream just happened. I fell asleep right after dinner and dreamed that I was in a session with a new family with 2 kids and dozed off. I dreamed that when I finally woke up, it was dark outside and they'd brought their pets -- a bun rabbit plus a baby goat? a puppy? a kitten? -- in from the car and they were contentedly playing with them and the toys in my office. I apologized -- dad wasn't upset at all, neither were the kids, and they cheerfully set a second appointment -- and then I looked at my appt book to see how long they'd been waiting for me to wake up. Three hours!

I don't even HAVE an office.

[Dr. Kobb]

Aug 26, 2022 20:50:10 GMT -5 Killer Goldfish said:

This dream just happened. I fell asleep right after dinner and dreamed that I was in a session with a new family with 2 kids and dozed off. I dreamed that when I finally woke up, it was dark outside and they'd brought their pets -- a bun rabbit plus a baby goat? a puppy? a kitten? -- in from the car and they were contentedly playing with them and the toys in my office. I apologized -- dad wasn't upset at all, neither were the kids, and they cheerfully set a second appointment -- and then I looked at my appt book to see how long they'd been waiting for me to wake up. Three hours!

I don't even HAVE an office.

You know your caseload is too heavy when you start taking on dream clients. 

[Marxo Grouch]

Having another period of vivid dreams. One from last night involved being at a party that Willie Nelson was also attending, only when I found him in one of the rooms, he was asleep in a sleeping bag, so I couldn't talk to him.

And another part of my dream proved what a dick my brain is. I somehow found myself physically involved with a woman - no one I know in real life (her face seemed to be a bit of a combination of a couple of TV actresses from the night before) - who really wanted to get it on with me, and we were well on our way to doing exactly that when I started wondering if she might not be looking for more than just sex and thinking that if she did, I probably shouldn't sleep with her, and it never did get that far. Why the hell can't my goddamn brain just let me fuck every once in a while, instead of turning everything into a drama?

[Killer Goldfish]

I dreamed I was on the set of RAT PFINK A BOO BOO -- somebody's front yard, at a gray-brick ranch home somewhere out in the country where the houses are half a mile apart -- and the scene was about a kitten watching the house from the driveway as an explosion went off in the living room. It was a lame, Cash Flagg kind of explosion with a single belch of smoke out the living-room window, a modest report and nothing else. Another kitten came along; they watched with interest briefly and then scampered together up to the house to see what was going on. Worried about them, I gave chase because there was nobody else around and I didn't know if there was going to be another explosion.


The house and locale were very similar to Uncle Ziggy's place where I did in fact get my first kitten. I did not recognize these kittens or even the house as I slept.

[Lemmy Caution]

Oddball dream in which my father(!) and I were investigating a house in which there had been a number of reports about hauntings/demonic possessions. It was apparently some kind of short-term rental place, occupied by various groups of folks who'd been moving through the area. We ran a computer lookup that revealed a number of "missing" maintenance calls, etc., had, in fact been made by the housekeepers. They'd move in between tenants, hang up all kinds of cheerful pink banners saying things like "Peanut" and generally have a fine old time until another short-term rental came up --at which point everything would go back to being eldritch and creepy.

The other odd bit was: the house itself had absolutely none of the traditional haunted house features --no walls dripping blood, no creaky noises in the night, no dead women in the bathtub. It resembled a sort of run-down condominium/strip-mall space (the run-down-ness of the appliances the A/C plant, etc., being the reason we were looking up the history of building maintenance calls). It was definitely creepy as fuck, but in a "nothing happened in this place, just an old condo with 70's appliances, move along, move along" way...

[Killer Goldfish]

I guess I didn't realize how sleep-deprived I've been. Yesterday I fell asleep at 4 pm -- I had no choice at all in the matter -- and woke up at 7:30. I went to sleep for the night at about the regular time and woke up today at the time the alarm would have gone off if it weren't Sunday. Then I rolled over again and fell asleep -- again, I had no choice in the matter -- and had this anxiety dream about work:

I had a lot of appointments back to back in my book and had only a short time to get to the first one. It was a previous client coming back on my caseload -- despite the fact that he is irl far too old for my program -- and he'd moved in with yet another new family. All I could remember was that he lived at 63 or 68 Patch, a road I'd never heard of. I didn't remember what town. I had another appt at another new place immediately afterward and knew that unless they lived right next door that was never going to work, but never mind, I didn't even know the names of that family, let alone where they lived. I just had initials in the appt book, no addresses or phone numbers. I tried to get directions to my first client's place but it tried to send me to 68 Patch in Traverse City, several hours away. I tried again and the Google search box interpreted my handwriting wrong -- I was writing cursive in the search box with my fingertip, not typing -- and it interpreted that as a drawing, and I watched in horror as the house number, 63, formed up into a little red rocking chair in the search box. I thought of just cancelling the meeting, but I was eager to see him again.  Also, Medicaid frowns on cancelling first appts unless the client does it and I knew they'd confirmed. And I didn't have the phone number to do that anyway. And who were these other people I had to meet at an unknown address? Fuck!

Then I woke up, curiously refreshed.

[El Santo]

First, a bit of background.  There are a bunch of different private organizations of engineers and other technical types that take it upon themselves to draft model legislation and regulations for various intricately nerdy things that government entities can officially adopt, and essentially say, "Here-- these people who know what they're talking about say this is the correct way to design, install, and maintain process piping for pressure fired boilers [or whatever], so we're making it a legal obligation that everyone in our jurisdiction do so."  These documents get published, generally by the relevant technical organization, under titles like National Fire Prevention Code or National Electrical Code or National Standards for Industrial Elevators and so on, and the law library where I work has an extensive collection of such things, going back decades.

Anyway, last night I dreamed that our house was suffering from some manner of supernatural manifestation, and I was at work consulting the National Spook Control Code to see what methods for dealing with it had been allowed and/or prescribed by the Maryland State Department of Housing.

[Killer Goldfish]

Not my dream, but I heard about this from a co-worker at team meeting and it was so very odd.

She was on the supervisory team interviewing new prospects for one of our many open positions and the prime candidate guy they were interviewing had a plant growing out of the top of an otherwise bald head. The interview proceeded and nobody mentioned it once. She finally brought it up with the team after he left and she was sharply advised not to make an issue out of it because he was totally fine as a candidate and the job needed to be filled.

I never have dreams that remind me of one-act plays the way this one does. Do you?

[El Santo]

Last night, I dreamed that sex replicants ate Ted Cruz.



I don't think the dream included what provoked me to visit the robot brothel, but that's what I was doing.  After mulling over my options for a bit, I decided to spring for a ticket to the Orgy Room, which turned out to work something like buying tickets to a film screening; there were fixed starting and stopping times, and a waiting area in which the next bunch of Orgy Room customers would hang out until it was their turn.  There ended up being about four or five of us in my group-- all men-- and everyone was greatly dismayed when the Junior United States Senator from Texas sauntered in and took a seat among us.  He was obnoxious company, and would surely not become less so for being balls-deep in a gynoid prostitute.

The Orgy Room itself turned out to be an arena-like space about the size of a typical suburban living room, ringed with divans, strewn with mattresses, and decorated in a "Space 1999"-like palette of beiges and grays.  From inside, it was very difficult to discern where the doors were; the fire marshal would have been pissed.  As the other customers and I sat down, the lights began slowly dimming, music (an odd selection of early-80's hard rock, of all things) started to play, and about twice-and-a-half our number of beautiful, scantily clad gynoids filed in through entrances that seemed to vanish as soon as the robo-gals passed through them.  I ended up in close proximity to one of the other guys, with several gynoids shifting their attentions between us as the ambient light declined to utter blackness.  At that point, it became difficult to tell who was touching whom, and I ended up in a version of the "those aren't pillows!" bit from Planes, Trains, and Automobiles with the guy sitting next to me-- except that the scene was played for eroticism instead of comedy.

He and I soon noticed, however, that we seemed to have each other all to ourselves.  What happened to the gynoids we were paying for?  Then I realized that I could hear... things... coming from the other side of the room.  Then, right as the first chorus to some Pat Benatar song kicked in, the lights came on suddenly, and I saw all the gynoids in a sort of huddle opposite us.  As one, they raised their heads and looked around to us, and it became evident that every last one of them was slathered in blood from the lips down.  Many of them were still chewing, and at least one of them was holding a recognizable piece of a human limb.  That's when I saw what was left of Ted Cruz (it wasn't much, but enough of his face remained to be recognizable) slumped on the divan at the center of the huddle, and it was also when the huddle began to break up as the gynoids turned their attention toward the rest of us.  They started sort of dancing their way across the room at that point, and I get the impression that my subconscious was having trouble making up its mind which way the dream should go from there.  It's hard to explain, but the mood-- the quality of the light, the expressions on the synthetic prostitutes' faces, the camera angles, so to speak-- began toggling from second to second between extremely perverse eroticism, like something out of a Jesus Franco movie, and flat-out horror.  Consequently, I couldn't get a fix on the gynoids' intentions, and when I woke up, I was trying to figure out how to convey to them that it was totally okay by me if they wanted to eat Ted Cruz-- that I in fact regarded it as a public service on their parts, and would be happy to do whatever I could to help them get away with it.

[Killer Goldfish]

Dec 15, 2022 11:30:53 GMT -5 El Santo said:

Last night, I dreamed that sex replicants ate Ted Cruz.



I don't think the dream included what provoked me to visit the robot brothel, but that's what I was doing.  After mulling over my options for a bit, I decided to spring for a ticket to the Orgy Room, which turned out to work something like buying tickets to a film screening; there were fixed starting and stopping times, and a waiting area in which the next bunch of Orgy Room customers would hang out until it was their turn.  There ended up being about four or five of us in my group-- all men-- and everyone was greatly dismayed when the Junior United States Senator from Texas sauntered in and took a seat among us.  He was obnoxious company, and would surely not become less so for being balls-deep in a gynoid prostitute.

The Orgy Room itself turned out to be an arena-like space about the size of a typical suburban living room, ringed with divans, strewn with mattresses, and decorated in a "Space 1999"-like palette of beiges and grays.  From inside, it was very difficult to discern where the doors were; the fire marshal would have been pissed.  As the other customers and I sat down, the lights began slowly dimming, music (an odd selection of early-80's hard rock, of all things) started to play, and about twice-and-a-half our number of beautiful, scantily clad gynoids filed in through entrances that seemed to vanish as soon as the robo-gals passed through them.  I ended up in close proximity to one of the other guys, with several gynoids shifting their attentions between us as the ambient light declined to utter blackness.  At that point, it became difficult to tell who was touching whom, and I ended up in a version of the "those aren't pillows!" bit from Planes, Trains, and Automobiles with the guy sitting next to me-- except that the scene was played for eroticism instead of comedy.

He and I soon noticed, however, that we seemed to have each other all to ourselves.  What happened to the gynoids we were paying for?  Then I realized that I could hear... things... coming from the other side of the room.  Then, right as the first chorus to some Pat Benatar song kicked in, the lights came on suddenly, and I saw all the gynoids in a sort of huddle opposite us.  As one, they raised their heads and looked around to us, and it became evident that every last one of them was slathered in blood from the lips down.  Many of them were still chewing, and at least one of them was holding a recognizable piece of a human limb.  That's when I saw what was left of Ted Cruz (it wasn't much, but enough of his face remained to be recognizable) slumped on the divan at the center of the huddle, and it was also when the huddle began to break up as the gynoids turned their attention toward the rest of us.  They started sort of dancing their way across the room at that point, and I get the impression that my subconscious was having trouble making up its mind which way the dream should go from there.  It's hard to explain, but the mood-- the quality of the light, the expressions on the synthetic prostitutes' faces, the camera angles, so to speak-- began toggling from second to second between extremely perverse eroticism, like something out of a Jesus Franco movie, and flat-out horror.  Consequently, I couldn't get a fix on the gynoids' intentions, and when I woke up, I was trying to figure out how to convey to them that it was totally okay by me if they wanted to eat Ted Cruz-- that I in fact regarded it as a public service on their parts, and would be happy to do whatever I could to help them get away with it.

A) Every dream is a wish, according to Sigmund Freud.

B) I'm not sure gynoids are legally culpable for anything they do, are they?  Or in this dream were they citizens with a full set of rights and responsibilities?

C) If you're there to have sex with them, wouldn't they know some English?  Or was it just sex-trafficking English -- "you go hotel, round the world 5 bucks Charlie," that level of communication?

[El Santo]

Dec 15, 2022 12:35:21 GMT -5 Killer Goldfish said:

A) Every dream is a wish, according to Sigmund Freud.

B) I'm not sure gynoids are legally culpable for anything they do, are they?  Or in this dream were they citizens with a full set of rights and responsibilities?

C) If you're there to have sex with them, wouldn't they know some English?  Or was it just sex-trafficking English -- "you go hotel, round the world 5 bucks Charlie," that level of communication?

B:  My subconscious neglected to specify.  One might assume, however, that even without the legal responsibilities of human citizens, a sexbot who eats her customers is in jeopardy of being dismantled as both a faulty product and a major liability problem for her owners.

C:  It was less a question of inherent language skills and more that they seemed to have all gone completely feral.

[Killer Goldfish]

Dec 15, 2022 15:56:16 GMT -5 El Santo said:

Dec 15, 2022 12:35:21 GMT -5 Killer Goldfish said:

A) Every dream is a wish, according to Sigmund Freud.

B) I'm not sure gynoids are legally culpable for anything they do, are they?  Or in this dream were they citizens with a full set of rights and responsibilities?

C) If you're there to have sex with them, wouldn't they know some English?  Or was it just sex-trafficking English -- "you go hotel, round the world 5 bucks Charlie," that level of communication?

B:  My subconscious neglected to specify.  One might assume, however, that even without the legal responsibilities of human citizens, a sexbot who eats her customers is in jeopardy of being dismantled as both a faulty product and a major liability problem for her owners.

C:  It was less a question of inherent language skills and more that they seemed to have all gone completely feral.

B) Valid.

C) Valid.

[Killer Goldfish]

Got hardly any sleep last night but when I finally drifted off, I dreamed that I had moved into an apartment with all these roommates, most of whom turned out to be my co-workers, and none of them would let me get to sleep either.  My very comfortable bed turned somehow into a kitchen table with a bright (if remarkably ill-appointed) chandelier that could never be turned off, dangling just a few inches away from the tabletop.  One of the roommates turned out to be Crispin Glover, and he kept very rudely asking me to leave because I was disturbing him.  I gradually won him over enough to sit down and talk to me, but I really needed to sleep.  When I finally woke up for real I realized he wasn't Crispin Glover after all; he was a client of mine that I haven't seen in a couple of years, and yeah, he does remind me of the Crispin in some ways.  And he is just that rude, but mostly to his folks.

Fitting enough intro to my "back to work" mode.  All my actual appointments cancelled, but Jesus was I busy playing catch-up.  And I found out that 2 weeks ago my supervisor left me an email saying that I'm getting a new client tomorrow morning, bright and early.  I've been talking to her all day and she never mentioned it.  I had to call them just now at nearly 7 pm.

[El Santo]

Last night in "What the hell, brain?"...

1.  I took a gig as a figure model for an artist who wanted to do a series of paintings depicting famous heroes of myth and pop culture as middle-aged fat men.  Fat, aging Theseus; fat, aging Siegfried; fat, aging John Carter; etc.  I got the impression that either the artist or his patron was a gay guy with very specific tastes.

2.  No idea how we got here, but I was working at a public library where I've never actually worked, talking with a coworker whom I've never actually worked with on the subject of websites with extremely misleading URLs.  The last thing she said before I woke up was, "But it turns out that Pedo-dot-net really is just for pedos."

[Deeky]

May 3, 2023 13:36:48 GMT -5 El Santo said:

I got the impression that either the artist or his patron was a gay guy with very specific tastes.

There's an app for that.

[Dr. Kobb]

I don't remember my dreams much, and I suspect it's from too much weed before bed.  However, I just woke up from a nap dream where I and someone else were in an enclosed space like a garage with lots of crap around on the floors and walls, and this person was egging me on to light a bottle rocket.  I did, and the rocket flew at the wall opposite me and came directly back at my head.  That's when I woke up from my nap. 

[El Santo]

I wish I could remember how the pieces of this fit together.  It's possible that they actually don't, and that these are just fragments of three totally unrelated dreams, but they feel connected somehow, however improbable that's going to sound when I'm finished describing them all...

The first bit I remember is that I was auditioning members for a new band, and that the guitarist I picked was missing about 60% of his left leg.  Only instead of using a wheelchair or a modern prosthetic, he stood and walked using this crazy homemade crutch that looked like something out of a barbarian or post-apocalypse movie.  Guy was a real snazzy dresser, too, favoring brightly-colored pimp suits.  He looked like he'd stepped out of one of those "Red Carpet FAILS!" clickbait listicles, you know?  His playing style was a little more heavy metal than I would ideally have liked, but he was really good, and definitely someone whom I could work with.

Then I was out with a group of people who I think included Juniper, the aforementioned one-legged guitarist, and an imaginary dude who looked like a cross between David Boreanaz and Richard Grieco, when we stumbled upon a criminal enterprise that was set up something like a dog-fighting ring.  Only instead of dogs, it was giant monsters, and in addition to betting on the outcome of the fights, people from the audience could pay to participate in them by piloting giant robots.  I don't recall what, but there was some kind of mystery attached to this undertaking that we became determined to solve, and we figured that the best way to do it was from the inside.  None of us could afford the entry fee to pilot a robot, though-- but fortunately the David Boreanaz/Richard Grieco-looking guy had the power to turn into a giant gargoyle, so we sent him to infiltrate the monster stable.

And finally, I, Juniper, and a couple guys from our regular B-Fest/Monster-Rama crew went to a whorehouse together, but decided to jump the check when it turned out to be a whole extra zero higher than the price we'd negotiated ahead of time.  This led to a Benny Hill chase through some of Baltimore's finer ghettos, until Juniper and the guy who used to post as TelstarMan on the B-Movie Message Board saved the day by serenading the enraged madam with a filthy version of some old country tune that my subconscious must have dredged up from my childhood, when my grandfather would listen to WCAO on the radio while taking me and my brother to school.