The Fighter-jet Dream

Many recent dreams have been like movies or television shows. Often feeling they’re part of a larger series, I often don’t see myself in them. Instead, I’m a viewer.

So last night’s dream was a break from that routine. My and my jet were the primary leads.

Living in a huge, hyper-modern city, I became aware that it was going to be attacked. Warnings were going out. In response, me and another person climbed into our jet-aircraft. In design, they seem like single-seat twin-engine F-15 Eagles, but flatter and smaller, and dark, dark blue in color. Blue dominated the dream. Except for the jets’ exhaust flames, which were blue with yellow, and the final celebration rockets, everything was blue.

Incoming aircraft were reported. We scrambled, lighting a darkening dusk sky with our twin after-burners. I was lead. My wing-man was immediately attacked. Unable to lose his attacker, I stalked the aircraft, causing them to break off their attack on my guy. Flashing around the city’s sky, the other tried and failed to lose me. My aircraft was incredibly responsive, and I displayed a staggering mastery of its capabilities, so much , that in the dream, I thought, the aircraft and I are one.

Finally lining up a shot, I fired a missile at the attacker. It struck his aircraft, causing it to begin breaking up, giving him time to eject.

Afterward, I took my aircraft high over the city and throttled back. My companion joined me. The air was clear. It was night. It felt like we were on the edge of space.

Other aircraft were inbound to attack. He and I went at them. Multiple intense aerial combat scenes followed. Most vividly remembered is a scene where I was being chased. I took my aircraft down along the frozen blue river that bisected the city. My aircraft flashed under blue bridges at hyper-sonic speed. Unwilling to follow me there, the enemy broke off and climbed. Standing my aircraft up on its tail, I climbed up after him, and took him out.

That’s what was interesting about the dream. I was often in my cockpit as me. But other times, I could see myself in the cockpit, or I was watching the action from a third person POV. Whichever happened, I always knew it was me.

After we’d thwarted the attack, I radioed back to the command center to inform them that the city was safe once again. Feeling so brave and pleased with the result, I took my aircraft on a high-speed acrobatic flight over the city, and then, in a surprising twist, fired off colorful sky rockets to celebrate.

It was a damn good feeling.

I had no trouble relating this dream to my life, especially my writing and publishing efforts. My moods travel through a monthly cycle. I’m trending up this week. That translates to being incredibly optimistic and hopeful, truly on top of the world, ma. The dream reflects those emotions, taking off flying, being in control, and winning.

My last writing effort, Four on Kyrios, is out to several agents, awaiting their response. Meanwhile, the newest novel, April Showers 1921, is being dictated at breath-taking speed. I’m struggling to keep up with it. Its pace has startled me, and it’s twists and turns surprise me.

All of that fits with the dream. Even the dream’s blue coloring is cited as being optimistic by one source: “The presence of this color in your dream may symbolize your spiritual guide and your optimism of the future. You have clarity of mind. ” Of course, in their next sentence, they say, “Alternatively, the color blue may also be a metaphor for “being blue” and feeling sad.” But I like the first one better.

Time to write like crazy at least one more time.

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Obfloofiate

Obfloofiate (floofinition) – to anticipate or prevent and eliminate a housepet’s plans.

In use: “Knowing that as soon as she left that a housepet would be on her food, she obfloofiated their intentions by putting her sandwich into the refrigerator

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Today’s theme music comes from the “What the hell was that?” file. It’s a general file in my head. The major category is “What the hell?” Besides the mystified “What the hell was that?” sub-category, there’s “What the hell did he/she just say?”, “What the hell did he/she just do?”, and the ever-popular, “What the hell was I going to do/get/say?”.

The song’s wild musical break began streaming in my mind this morning but I can’t identify a trigger. The song was released in 1966, but I began aware of it later, hearing it on my AM/FM alarm clock a few years later. So different, it immediately went into the “What the hell was that file?” It then took a few years to determine what it was, and hear it fully. Hearing if fully, the Yardbirds and Beach Boys inspirations become clear.

Judge for yourself. Here’s “Psychotic Reaction” by Count Five, in black and white.

 

 

Floofal Vortex

Floofal Vortex (floofinition) – a large mass of housepets sleeping or lounging together.

In use: “The large Great Dane sprawled across the sofa. Sleeping in winter sunshine under the window, he soon became part of a floofal vortex as the foster kittens and Corgis slumbered on top of or alongside him.”

Wednesday’s Theme Music

I’d dreamed about setting up games in a small city college, and found myself thinking about a song as a result of it after I woke up. Then, my little ginger-fur friend plagued me to come in, tapping at the window by the door while imploring me with wide eyes, “Let me in.”

Letting him in, I began singing, “You belong in the house, carpet under your feet.”

The cat responded by asking me if I had anything to eat.

I returned to streaming the original song in my head. Here’s Glenn Frey’s song, “You Belong to the City”. It was written for the Miami Vice television series way back in 1985. It was a good year for me. I spent a few months in Africa, but that’s a different story.

Two Cups

It began in December. With receding silver hair and a large, round head, he looks like he’s in his late sixties. Each day, he enters the coffee shop at around eleven thirty. He buys two cups of coffee to go. Going outside, he finds a seat at one of the patio tables. His location varies by weather. He puts one cup of coffee by one seat, and then sits down at another. Sipping coffee, he gazes at something that he only sees. When he finishes his coffee, he picks up the other cup and empties it on the ground. Both cups are thrown into the trash can, and then he walks down the street, alone.

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