Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Today’s music choice is dream fallout. This song was in the dream stream and got kicked into the conscious stream after I got up. Now it’s stuck in there on a loop, which is driving me nuts, so it’s being shared to spit it out of the stream.
From 1987, here’s U2 with “Sweetest Thing”.
So, as many of my dreams have taken me in the past, there I am, back in the military after being out for several decades. It’s not a surprising dream sanctuary, and makes sense in many practical ways.
Once again, I’m there, in a command center or command post such as the ones that I spent much of my time. This one has windows, though. That rarely happened. We were often in secure buildings or underground. As with other dreams, I’m trying to put together a uniform, and it’s all messed up, because I’ve been retired from the military for so long. With much joking and laughing, I get it together and get a semblance of an Air Force uniform on. There are others in this situation, so I’m not overly concerned with the bit. We’ve been called up…enough said on that, right? Yeah, my mind’s workings can be pretty transparent.
I’m worried about my shoes, though. They’re on, but they’re not in great shape. Meanwhile, the situation is developing. I’m senior enlisted there, and the experienced command post guy. The commander, a colonel, has arrived. He’s concerned about the sit. I share his concerns. Beyond the windows is a swollen gray ocean active with slow, heavy waves. We’re walking along the command post, looking out the windows, searching for an impending attack from across the water. Lights draw our attention. We watch, and watch, hoping that they’ll resolve into something more than blurry lights in the distance, ready to act if they do.
We begin walking toward the other end of the command post. I’ve been thinking as the commander and I scanned the sea, and I’d developed a sense that something wasn’t right. Maybe we were looking at the problem the wrong way.
Just as I formulate this to myself, I turned to look through another window and see a huge wave. Rising like a movie scene, it’s rushing toward us. As I see it, a young airman shouts a warning about the wave.
I spring into action, giving orders and directions about what to do as people begin running in panic. As they’re panicking and only a few are doing as I say, I take it upon myself to act.
It’s too late. As I realize that the wave is about to hit, I tell everyone to find cover and find cover myself. The wave slams into the building. Coming through windows, the powerful water wrecks the interior.
It’s over in a flash. I survive in good condition because I’d protected myself. My biggest concern is my…shoe.
Yes, I’m upset because my right shoe is coming apart. It’s not shiny and black, as I kept it throughout my mil career, as trained to do, as we all did; it is dull and white. Man, am I exasperated.
But we need to take care of things. It’s clear that we can’t continue operations in the current location. I and two others, a male and female, take off walking for the alternate command post location. We’re walking alongside a parade ground. I’m lamenting about my shoe as I go.
While walking to the alternate location, we start moving faster. The two I’m with cross to the other side of the parade grounds. We engage in an unspoken pseudo-race at fast walking speed. They become distracted with conversation. Seeing that, grinning, I surreptitiously speed ahead. They notice, and start walking faster, almost catching up. The guy starts running, so I do, too. Laughing, we reach the alt at the same time, and wrestle to get through the door first. I win.
Inside the small, old places, we find things that were left behind, like candy, gum, toys, and clothes. I’m amused as I go through some of the stuff and think about how to make it operational as a new operating location.
Holding up a piece of old candy in a weathered wrapper, I say, “I remember leaving this here.”
The dream ends.
Today’s song is perfect for the moment. A cat’s attentions awoke me about five this morning. Dream pieces stayed with me while I attended the cat, and since I was up, visited the water closet. Sometime during this period, ELO’s 1975 song, “I Can’t Get It Out of My Head”, started streaming because I couldn’t get that dream out of my head.
Now, like the title, I can’t get this soft, mystical, prog-rock song out of my head. Over to you.
Today’s theme music was my dream’s theme music. It was a flying dream, and involved one of my little sisters, so I don’t know why my brain used this song.
“Fox on the Run” (1975) is by Sweet. I know of them and their music mostly through radio play, or from their music being used in television shows or movies. I’m more familiar with “The Ballroom Blitz” but I’m accommodating my brain and its choice here. The song played constantly in the background during the dream’s flying segments. There weren’t any foxes in the dream but that would be literal. There was a young woman who was attractive to me and who told me that she wanted me, so I guess the song could be a reference to her. We used to call attractive women foxes or foxy. That’s what the song is about.
The flying was effortless, by the way, but the aftermath — this morning — I feel exhausted. Coffee, stat, you know?
Meanwhile, I didn’t much about Sweet, so I read their Wikipedia coverage and a few other sources. The singer, Brian Connolly, died of renal and liver failure. when he was fifty-one after suffering multiple heart-attacks. Back in 1974, he’d been beaten and kicked in the throat, which damaged his vocal cords. Life didn’t seem the same for him after that.
So, here. Gotta get this out of my head and my dream. Cheers
I dreamed now that I wasn’t in the military, but others were pretending to be in the military.
My wife and I were at a social gathering. Packed and chaotic, it seemed so odd. Cakes were being served. People were drinking coffee and lemonade. Nobody was in a uniform but a man who claimed he was a colonel was demanding subservience and respect because he was the ranking officer. He was an old and bent, gray fellow. We were to obey every order, even though these orders were nonsensical. Obeying him and doing as he told was part of the social gathering. Part of it, as example, was that we, the fake military, stood at attention in rank and file, making fake weapons out of paper. I told my wife, “This is ridiculous. Why are we doing this?” I was ready to step out of line and walk away.
She replied, “Shhh. Just go along with it.”
Her response annoyed me as much as doing the fake crap, but I was doing this for her. The fake weapon-making finally ended, though. Relief flooded me. Walking away, I said, “Thank God.” But no, more crap was to come. The colonel was to give me a haircut.
I wasn’t willing to go along with that. One, I didn’t need a haircut. Two, I wasn’t going to get a haircut just because of some set of tradition, fake rules, or crazy personalities. I didn’t quite grasp why my wife and I were going through this mess of socializing and obedience, and I became more irritated and impatient by the minute.
But I acquiesced, for my wife. I was led to a small, crowded cubbyhole. Sitting in the worn, red-leather barber chair, I closed my eyes as the fake colonel cut my hair and talked to me. I understood little of what he said. First, he had an unusual accent. Second, he spoke an erratic syntax. His statements seemed unconcerned with whatever had been previously said.
The haircut was fast. He barely did anything. Eyes still closed, I attempted to get out of the chair. I didn’t realize that I’d been belted into it, and that a restraining arm was down over my waist. Hitting them, I stumbled to one side.
I caught myself without falling. The colonel said, “What are you doing? Why did you get out of the chair?”
I answered, “Because I wanted out of the chair.”
I’d briefly opened my eyes to see what had happened, and then closed them again. The colonel said, “The customer doesn’t decide when to get out of the chair. I tell you when to get out of the chair.”
“I don’t agree with that,” I replied. “I wanted out of the chair, so I did it.” Then I added, lying, “Because I was dizzy, and I wanted to stand up.”
My wife then arrived, asking what’d happened. I told her about it, including the lie that I’d felt dizzy and left the chair to feel better. I kept my eyes closed as I talked to her.
Then I said, “I lied. I was’t dizzy. I wanted out of that chair.” I immediately felt better.
The colonel asked for payment. Opening my eyes and looking around, I saw the crap around me and shook my head. My eyes were open. I was done there. It was time to go, and that’s what I told my wife.
The dream ended.
I dreamed that I was outside somewhere. Late afternoon, the sky was a deep azure and completely cloud free. It seemed to be a festival. Many people were there, but I didn’t know them.
Celebrations had been going on. I felt tremendous, — relieved, relaxed, and happy. I was celebrating an achievement after a long effort. As part of that, though, I’d also changed houses, selling one house, and buying a new one. Today, I would take ownership of my new house. I was looking forward to that with excitement. Meanwhile, though, I was enjoying this festival.
The festival, which had some food booths, was located alongside a lengthy bluff. Beyond the bluff was the blue, majestic ocean. Calm, powerful, and deep-looking, sunlight splashed on the waves like tiny diamonds were being spread over the water. As the day ended, the organizers were showing a movie outdoors. I’d been about to leave, but decided to stay to see what the movie was. After the opening scenes, I recognized an old hit movie, something from the late eighties or early nineties, that was really just so-so. I decided that I didn’t want to see it again, so I began heading indoors. As I went, almost everyone else made the same decision.
I was going to a large, modern, white building. It seemed to be a luxury hotel. As I went, I had a thick magazine about houses in my hand. It was a glossy, colorful production about great places to live in the area, and so on. In the middle was a tear-out section. Made of thinner paper and in black and white, that section was about homes that had been bought and sold, or were available to buy. I knew both of my homes, the new one and the old one, were in there, and made a halfhearted attempt to look them up as I walked. I thought it was pretty clever of the magazine creators to have this middle section that could pulled out and easily updated and replaced.
I entered the building with a black family: father, mother, and two young boys. One of the boys was playing, and pretended to shoot me. I pretended to fall over dead, laughing as I did. I happen to fall over my brown sofa, which I recognized, thinking of it as my old brown sofa. (In real life, we’ve had this sofa for twenty years, but we’ve ordered a new sofa, and are waiting for it to be delivered.) As the family went on down the hall, I got up to head for my new place eager to see it.
Unfortunately, a cat woke me, so that’s where the dream ends.
I dreamed that we were preparing for a celebration. I was in a sprawling place that seemed like restaurant and home, offering indoor and outdoor rooms. Although the rooms weren’t well lit, I could see that planning and setup was going on. My wife was present, doing some decorating, along with tall men who I didn’t know. Then three of my sisters and their husbands appeared, along with some of their children and grandchildren. My sisters were all young, too young to have grandchildren. My wife and I were young as well.
An excited feeling permeated the gathering. As it went, I saw my mother off in the distance and realized we were preparing the celebration for her. My other sister, the oldest appeared, walking through the complex. She, weirdly, looked her current age.
Setup was almost complete. I said, “I need to go shower and get ready.” I went off to find my rooms. Stopping by a bowl, I saw a purple banana amidst the yellow bananas. I thought, banana, grabbed it, peeled it, and started eating. I was surprised to find my sisters and their families behind me, like they were following me. They all seemed expectant, like they were waiting for me to do something.
I started eating the banana; its flesh was purple. I then thought that my sister had wanted the banana. I asked her, ready to offer her some of what was left. As she said, “No, that’s okay,” the banana was a yellow banana with white flesh again. I said, “I thought this was a purple banana.” When I said that, I peeled down the next part, The banana was purple again, with no evidence of yellow peel, but with some white flesh above the purple flesh.
Finishing the banana, I said, “Okay, I need to go get cleaned up.” I headed for my room, wending my way through the poorly-lit room around people and furniture. It was becoming quite noisy. Part of that was that the floor wasn’t carpeted and was wood, so all the people walking made it sound like constant, erratic drumming was underway.
Reaching the door to my room, I paused. My sisters and their families, without their husbands, were behind me. I said, “Um, you guys realize that I’m going in here to shower, shave, and change clothes, so I want privacy. You can’t come in.”
Laughing, they separated, going off in different directions.
I entered the room. They weren’t the expected rooms. I’d been in my rooms earlier, and these were different. As I walked into them, I saw stairs going down to my left. Straight ahead was another room. In there, I found a toddler in a high chair, eating from a bowl. Seeing the child, I realized that I was in my sister-in-law’s room. As I turned to retreat, she came up the stairs. Laughing, I greeted her and said, “Sorry, I’m in the wrong rooms. I thought these were my rooms, but they’re your rooms. I’m always getting lost in these rooms.”
The dream ended.
As I awoke and chuckled about the dream, thinking about how much of my family was represented (and then, my extended family, via my sister-in-law), I remembered the Prince song, which happens to be a personal favorite, “Let’s Go Crazy”.
“Let’s look for the purple banana until they put us in the truck, let’s go.”
Of course, he goes on to sing, “Let’s go crazy. Let’s go nuts.” Is that what my mind is telling me? Just let go?
I do know that I woke up feeling fantastic and energetic. I’m ready. Let’s go.
This dream could’ve been named a number of things. I first referred to it as the “Born to Run” dream. Then, as I remembered it, I decided the new title was more appropriate.
I was traveling by airlines in America through multiple, crowded airports. After going through Duluth, Minnesota, I went through Fargo, North Dakota. After Fargo, I found myself in a huge building. We’re talking a Superbowl stadium size.
Old, the building was well-maintained, with cavernous but mostly empty rooms except for towering gray cabinets. A woman introduced herself as a director. I was at a knowledge warehouse. Speaking to the air, the director told her staff to assist me with whatever I wanted. She told me to fill out my requests on a request form. The request form should include a learning objective. Catalogs of learning objectives were in the cabinets. I could use them to expedite the process.
Six other students showed up. They’d arrived before me but were coming to meet me and continue with their requests. The director asked me how I got there. After thinking, I said that I’d come through Fargo because that was the best way to get there. After acknowledging that, she departed.
I quickly completed a half-dozen learning objective requests. The other students went off to continue their learning. Thick folders for the first learning objectives soon arrived. Within minutes, I had a stack of them in front of me. Perusing them, I selected one for attention and started reading it as I walked around.
I found myself with a microphone. The warehouse was lit like a stage so I decided to perform “Born to Run”. As I was doing my performance, I realized that security cameras were present. Embarrassed, I quit my performance. Someone was trying to raise me, but I ignored him because I didn’t want to be mocked.
Wandering the warehouse, I soon found myself in wooded thicket. Movement ahead drew my interest. After some investigation, I saw a squirrel, and then a cat, and realized that the cat was chasing the squirrel.
I was summoned back to a meeting room. The other students were there. We sat at a table and talked about our learning objectives. More folders arrived for me. The director called for a few of us to go into another room with one specific folder. It was our choice which folder to bring.
Aha, epiphany. I needed to decide where I wanted to go, and it was a journey to a different, isolated location. I also had the responsibility to educate myself but resources were available to help.
Now, weirdly, the dream ended with “Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows” by Lesley Gore (1963).
I slept fantastically well this week, but had so many dreams. One that stayed with me, though…
I was shopping. At first I thought I was in a department store like Macy’s, and then I thought I was in a mall. I was looking at clothing and shoes, and picked a few things up for myself. When I went to pay, I couldn’t figure out where to pay. That exasperated me. I debated with myself in my dream, should I put this stuff back, just leave it here, or go on? Watching others didn’t help. I didn’t see anyone paying, and didn’t see any clerks, cashiers, or registers.
Without embracing a decision, I wandered, and found myself in a grocery store. Hanging onto my previous selections, I found a shopping cart, and picked up some produce. Spying a register, I hurried to it to pay for everything, hoping that I could there. When I arrived there, I pulled out my money. There was a register but no cashier. Maybe it was self-pay, I thought.
Then, a nasally female voice came over the loudspeaker. “We just learned that you’re not supposed to pay.”
I paused to consider that announcement. Was that directed to me, or someone else, or everyone? As I pondered, a young woman came up and told me, “We’re paying for you. It’s already been taken care of.”
“Who paid for me?”
She was busy collecting materials and doing things, as store personnel often are, and scarcely paid attention to me. “It’s been taken care of.”
“Who paid for me. I want to thank them, at least.”
The young woman waved her hand. “Don’t worry. It’s been taken care of.”
I remained mystified. She went away.
End dream.
Last night, one dream was going on when it was interrupted by a special bulletin. There was a flash of sparkling white light. A swarthy man with coarse features and long, dark air, parted in the middle but tied in a pony tail, called out to me. He seemed like he was in his late thirties. I dimly recognized him. He was wearing jeans and a frayed white shirt.
He said, “Come here. Come on.” He was acting impatient, gesturing with his hands and fingers, while his head was bowed, like he was weary of doing this.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m going to explain this.”
“But you already explained it.”
“I know.” Nodding, he turned away, but waved at me to follow. “I know I explained it but I don’t think you understand, so I’m explaining it again. Come on.”
I begin to follow him; the dream ended.
Michael Seidel, writer 