Category: Dreams

The Gun Dream

This dream played out in three parts last night. Wasn’t much of me in it; I played a frustrated bystander.

I was with one of my younger sisters. We were milling, killing time waiting for something to go on. Details about that aspect were spare.

In walks a young man. Swarthy, with a cushion of dark, curly hair and a skinny, ripped body. Wears a tight maroon shirt and black pants. I barely know him but take it he’s a young man interested in one of my other sisters. He’s not very talkative. Chatter is going on around us but I’m a magnet on him. Studying his moves. Because something is off. I’m keen to know what.

I notice that as he shifts, he has an automatic handgun. He’s trying to hide it. I think he’s going to do something stupid with that weapon. Then he goes off.

Awakened for a cat matter, I reflect on the dream. It’s not out of my usual book of dreams. I lack clues about what it means.

The dream’s second act starts with me and the guy and my sister. I think the guy’s name is Paul. I try to talk to him. He’s truculent. We’re taking refuge in a garage that’s been converted into a bedsit sort of situation. The small space’s walls are cinder blocks painted white. Flourescent tubes give us stark lighting.

My sister is resting. I’ve covered her with a blanket but I’m watching Paul. Food is available, along with an old microwave. I offer to prepare something for everyone, talking to them about what’s available and what they might want. Paul is pretty furtive. I notice he has a black ski mask. Slipping it on, he leaves.

Figuring that Paul is off to rob someone, I’m angry. I rush out to chase him down and tell him not to do it. The door opens to an alleyway lined with a fence and thick with junk, like barrels, broken wooden pallets, and cast-off tires. It’s raining. The late afternoon light is anemic. Unable to see Paul, I return inside and put something into the microwave.

Another cat break is endured. During that time, I see that Paul resembles my sister’s father. She’s my half-sister, I should clarify, with a different father. I wonder about that as I tuck back into bed and fall back into sleep’s grasp.

Segment three has Paul returning. It’s much darker in the garage, and I don’t see him well but come to see that he’s still wearing a black ski mask. “What did you do?” I ask him several times, to no responses.

Someone pounds on the door. Adjusting his balaclava, Paul goes to the door. Aiming the gun at head level, he jerks it open. I wonder, police? Some other criminals? I hear speaing but can’t understand it.

That is where the dream ends.

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Twosda’s Theme Music

Not a good night of sleep to end March of 2025 for me. Twosda, April 1, 2025, has begun with overnight lows in the bottom of the 30s F. 38 F now. Highs will hit the 40s. Squirmy grey clouds shoulder down onto the mountains and separate into misty tendrils. Rain falls. Blue sky is off limits. A skittish sun reassures us it’s daytime.

Papi disliked the rain. He was in and out a billion and seven times between 6 and 8 AM. Fed up by the stale routine, I lectured him. “You’re the cat who cried in and out too many times. If you go out this time, you’re staying out there.” He was mute in response but went out. Thereafte, he beat to come in every ten minutes. I finally let him in after an hour. He reproached me with a look. Nothing has been learned here.

Dreams then contributed to my sluggish state. I had a dream in three parts. The cat kept disrupting it but I kept returning to it. Now I’m on my cup of coffee, looking to it to prompt more blood flow through me.

“We could get a tushy,” my wife says. “It’s very popular.”

She’s referring to a bidet seat. She’s been off and on about this for six months. First on. She wanted one with warm water. Than off because we don’t have an electric outlet by the toilet. I suggested having one installed. She thought about that for a few weeks and then turned that down.

“Do you want a cold water one then?” I asked. That was the natural follow up.

“Let me think about it.”

So she’s back on it today. “We need to measure the toilet,” I tell her. “To ensure it fits.”

“It fits ninety percent of all toilets,” she says.

I’ve heard that before. “We need to measure and confirm it fits our toilet seat’s shape and size. What’s a skirted toilet?” I will do these things later, I tell myself. I don’t want to disturb my morning routine. It already feels wrecked.

Part of my wrecked sensation came from a foot episode. The one which has recovered from surgery. When I arose to partake of Papi’s ingress/egress routine, the foot was painful and stiff. I’d not had any issues with it. So I responded to self, “WTF?” Thoughts of what I did with the foot the previous day were pursued. Nothing meaningful was found. It feels fine now. I register it in my permanent record as another life mystery.

Tame Impala is performing “Let It Happen” in the morning mental music stream. Maybe it’s associated with the dreams. Could also be from thinking about ordering and installing the bidet seat or from pondering the crumbling United States and the GOTP and MAGA response is to it. Although The Neurons have been with me for a few years, I’m still trying to understand how they work.

“Let It Happen” came out in 2015. I didn’t remember that. Looked it up on the net. Wiki thingy’s summary says, “Let It Happen” is about “finding yourself always in this world of chaos and all this stuff going on around you and always shutting it out because you don’t want to be part of it. But at some point, you realize it takes more energy to shut it out than it does to let it happen and be a part of ‘it’.” That’s according to Kevin Parker. Parker is the Australian who wrote the song and performs it.

I think I’m seeing some glimmering of why The Neurons have it racing around my morning mental music stream.

Coffee is not helping much this morning. My bed is singing me a lullaby. But it’s April 1. No foolin’. We’re washing the bed linens. And I want to get on to things. Writing, um, showering and dressing. I also have a bidet to order.

Hope your day is going better. Cheers

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Sunda’s Wandering Thoughts

I’m feeling très upbeat today. I’m not sure to what I attribute this mood. Maybe it’s just something in the stars and the moon. It could be coffee lifting my spirits, I suppose. I’ve also had very productive writing and editing sessions this week and immensely enjoy the novel in progress.

It might be sunshine. Loads of it washing through the wind waving trees. Maybe it’s just my hormones, some cycle, or due to the series of terrific dreams dropped on me while I slept.

Query: do the dreams cause the mood, or does the mood cause the dream. Feels like a chicken and egg thing.

Whatever it is, hope it stays a while. Such a terrific feeling, ya know?

5

Sunda’s Theme Music

The pinks and white blossoms in my view offset the clouds’ wind and wuthering suggestions. Nothing can unburdened the wind’s effect. Lowing through the sky, it randomly shakes bushes and trees, giving an impression that one big creature is chasing a herd of other creatures through the foliage. I’m thinking, a T-Rex is after a swarm of smaller things and the smaller things are frantically ripping away.

This is Sunda, March 30, 2025. Just one more day of March after this, then April arrives to try to lift our spirits in ‘Merica.

I’ve again done the tango with my cat to give him his medicine. Knowing when it’s time to be administered, he alertly avoids me and asks for permission to leave the house. Usually takes five minutes of steps and talking back and forth before the med is delivered. I try to sound cajoling and calming; he responds with disappointment and distrust. Finally done, it’s feeding time, followed by his second med. I have the system down for the second one, amlodipine. It’s a powder. I mix it in with chumley and hot water. Then out the door he goes.

And back in, because wind. Papi the ginger blade has no patience for wind. I’ve been out there, though, and agree with his assessment, as that wind carries some winter on it. Now Papi is visiting me, paws on my leg as I sit here, requesting that I pet him. I take time out of typing and reading to do that, sipping coffee as he closes his eyes and purrs. Then, enough! He trots away.

Had a chuckle this morning. I was alone, which gave it a little crazy spin: The Observer view on JD Vance: spurned in Greenland and humiliated at home, the vice-president should resign. Right. Not holding my breath on that.

Rain tats awoke me from a swell dream today. A woman visited me to return my manuscript to me. After foisting a warm hug on me, she told me that she’d read it, and it thrilled her. Thrilled me to hear her say that. As we talk, the woman is gently stroking my arm or patting my shoulder. Her two teenage daughters were with her. She turned to leave and told her daughters to go ahead, she’d catch up. The girls went out the front door. Then the woman hugged me again and kissed me. She suggested she was interested in getting more intimate right then and there. I rejected her; she insisted and kissed me again. I was kind of, why not? But her daughters, I added. She smiled; “They won’t care.” Well…okay…

The little monkeys I call The Neurons kicked consciousness off with Laura Brannigan singing her cover of “Self Control” in my morning mental music stream.

You take my self, you take my self control
You got me livin’ only for the night
Before the morning comes, the story’s told
You take my self, you take my self control

h/t to AZLyrics.com

Oh, they’re funny. The song came out in 1984 and was a hit for Brannigan. She passed away just twenty years later, only 52. I realize in retrospect that the woman in my dream looked much like Brannigan.

Papi is asleep in his malabar chair. Coffee is selling its magic in my system. The wind is singing like a lonely cat. Hope you have a good one, wherever you are. Here we go. Cheers

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Saturda’s Theme Music

The world is full of colors. Pinks, yellow, and greens win the eye. Must be spring in Ashlandia. Temp is 45 F, however, it feels like 60, if you stand just the right way. ‘They’ say it’ll be 55 F today as our high but left out how it will feel. Will it rain? Yes! Maybe! It’s Saturda, March 29, 2025, so who knows? I will dress for dry and rainy weather. Yeah, it’ll be a dorkish sight.

Papi the ginger blade, known locally as Butter Butt, doensn’t seem upset with us any longer. Could be because we bribed him with chumley and other treats. I don’t think he forgot. He seems to have a long memory about things. It could be that he’s trying to mislead me into thinking he’s forgotten and forgiven, and then raise floofhem some night when we really need sleep. That sort of cunning planning feels like his style.

I surfed through a wild dream last night. Whole thing was just a series of flash epiphanies in dark night. I was telling myself that star energy runs through us, firing the little nuclear responses in our cells that generate our life energy. We die when the star energy can no longer feed our cells. Star energy comes through our chakras into our corporeal beings, and so on. Time is something we made up, and we have it all wrong. Everything is happening at once. No past, no future. Time was created so we could think in a more orderly manner but we’ve taken it too fair. Now it’s our straitjacket.

There was much, much more. Such as there is only one universe, and the idea that we treat our bodies wrong by trying to heal it when we should be reversing things. Dream me didn’t explain how that was supposed to be accomplished.

I awoke really hot. There are different kinds of hot for us as humans. Drinking a hot beverage feels one way. Sex hot, sun hot, fever hot, sports hot which incudes dripping sweat, furnace hot, which dries us out, desert hot, are all different. If you think about these hots, you notice how each feels unique, and our bodies respond differently to each. Well, the hot felt when I awoke from this dream was wholly different from any of those hot experience. Perhaps that’s all only me. I’ve never discussed the different sort of hots I feel with others

Anyway, I awoke feeling a different manner of hot. Then I headed for the bathroom to pee.

Der Neurons have sprung “Star Man” by Davide Bowie on the morning mental music stream. This was from Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust era. Released in 1972, I don’t hear it often on the radio in ‘Merica. But I personally enjoy its message of hope being delivered by a Starman to Earth’s youth. I went with the Top of the Pops video performance. Even though the song is being mimed, it awakened and impressed many more people to the talent named Bowie.

Coffee is reassuring me once again. Time to play through. Hope your day is remarkable for you in many good ways. Peace out.

2

The Mercedes Dream

My wife and I were traveling. Astonishment took me when I realized we were driving a light green 1978 Mercedes Benz 280 SEL. Solid, dependable, comfortable, the car was like a tank. “That’s the same car we had in Germany,” I told my wife.

She didn’t notice. We were rushing and had stopped for shopping at Costco. With dream time, we leaped from talking while entering the store to being at the checkout register. A male manager rang us up. We were still actually shopping as that happened, with my wife hustling up with last minute additions.

Medicine and food were being rung up. The manager was urging us to hurry because it was time to close. We were going to be the last ones. My wife put a bag of food our box of purchases. Picking it up, I told the guy that we wanted another one, so ring it up again, and I told my wife to get one more. As she carried that up, the manager rang up the final bill: $610.

The total shocked us. I suggested putting things back and wondered how the total had become so high. Nothing expensive was in the box and there wasn’t a lot.

But we ended up saying, “Okay, let’s just pay and go because time is running out. We need to get on the road.”

End of dream.

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A Chaotic Mom Dream

Not surprising, given my conflicting attitudes about Mom, a chaotic dream had her front and center. My family was also there; not just my real life extended family. My dream added a few extras.

We were at some huge get together. This was at Mom’s place. It was a place I’ve never seen in real life. Ramshackled, part park and house, the boundaries between inside and out were nebulous and ever-changing. So were the rooms. I kept getting a little lost but then recovering and figuring out where I was.

Meanwhile, my relatives were a chaotic bunch. A person who dislikes chaos as much as cats dislike loud noises, I took charge and imposed order, telling each what they should do. I couched it in a way that it sounded like advice. Agreeing to my suggestions, they packed food, piled into cars, and left.

Ah, the silence was comfortable. Then Mom hurried in. Loose piles of money had been on one table. I remembered seeing it, I agreed. It was all gone, Mom said, frantic. She thought someone broke in and stole it.

I challenged that. She didn’t see anyone break in. No evidence of a break in was there. It was possible that the family took the money. Wasn’t that why the money was there? Mom bickered with me about it a bit, changing the history and the reason the money was there. I grew weary of it as I realized that nothing I said or did would appease her. Suggesting she call the other family members and talk to them, I wandered off.

Then came the dream’s climax. I sat down and picked at my little toe’s toe nail. This would be toe number five. The small toe. I picked at the nail; it felt like the nail was loose. Like something was under it. Unable to help myself, I conducted some prying with a finger nail.

My little toe’s top lifted off. Like the top quarter inch.

It was a bloodless event. Beneath it was another small toe nail. My toe was intact, just stubbier. To cap matters off, I did the same thing with the other toe.

Then I tossed the two toe tips aside, amusing myself with how Mom would react when she saw them, chuckling to myself about what my wife would say about my new truncated toes. I was dubious she would notice.

Dream end.

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Car & Places Dream

First, I traveled by boat. I was traveling with a group but never saw more than one a a time. I think we might have been military but we didn’t wear uniforms or use ranks.

In the first stage of our traveling, we went by boat, but that was only mentioned; I was never on the boat in the dream. We arrived at an island spa resort. I was dressed very casually in jeans with a light pastel Polo shirt. A woman greeted me and told me that I would be in a villa but in a different location from the officers. She also told me that I was the only enlisted present. One of the others came by at that point to check on me and then told me I was invited to dinner that night.

Ferrari Daytona coupe; not my car.

Next, I left the resort. I was driving. In a weird sequence where the POV changed, I saw that I was driving a 1971 Ferrari Daytona coupe. This was a car that I greatly admired when I was a teenager. Red, it was in perfect condition. Other people pointed at it as I drove by, which greatly pleased. Abruptly, my wife was with me as a passenger. I found a place to park by a curb so we could go in and have dinner.

My 1993 RX-7.

Then, I was driving again. This time I was in a 1993 black Mazda RX-7 like I used to own. A cousin was with me. I drove along a beach at the ocean and then found a black to park so we could get something to eat. After I got out the car, I was speaking with him and told him, “Don’t lock the door yet.” But he slammed the door shut. Horrified, he said, “I’m sorry.” I replied, “You locked us out.”

But I then discovered that the car was a targa, with a removeable roof panel. So all I needed to do was reach in the car to unlock it, which I did. I then remarked, “I guess I should put the roof on if I want the car to be locked.” I put that on but as I did, I thought to myself in the dream, funny, but Mazda never made a targa version of this car.

Dream end.

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Frieda’s Theme Music

Winter is perched in Ashlandia and its surroundings for another day. Yesterday, we sequenced through snow, sleet, rain, sunshine, repeat. Today seems like a duplicate effort. Snow is falling, the temperature is crowding 38 F with a questionable chance the air temp will light up 48 F. This is Frieda, March 14, 2025.

I read with serious dismay that the US Postal Service struck a deal to let DOGE ‘improve’ services.

That’s great news, innit? Yes, that’s snark.

I don’t find it great news at all. All that I’ve seen of DOGE so far is cutting headcount without having knowledge about what they’re doing. This has fed chaos in many areas of government. Facing outrage and backlash to the chaos, GOTP politicians have stopped holding townhalls and avoid meeting their constituents. Meanwhile, many agencies which had DOGE cuts had to hire people back, either because vital positions had been cut, or courts ruled that what DOGE did was illegal. Coupled with PINO Trusk’s tariffs, economic war, and imperial military interests, the stock market is rushing down, talk of a Trumpcession is heating up, and corporations are putting plans on hold and laying off/terminating employees due to ‘economic uncertainy and instabilitly’. Good times! So much winning!

Anyway, I’m not optimistic about what will happen to the mail system with DOGE’s ‘help’. The length of time needed for mail to be delivered has already increased. So have stamp prices. Post offices and satellite offices have been closed. We all drive further to wait longer to get postal business done. Our mail takes laborious, convoluted routes. Doesn’t go from A to B no even A to C. No, it now goes A to K and then back to H, up to P, back to D, and then, finally, B, it’s destination. Dog knows what DOGE will do to it.

Another series of uplifted dreams washed through my sleep. I awoke feeling rested, vigorous, and almost joyful. Weirdly, The Neurons inserted a 1986 song called “Mad About You” by Belinda Carlisle into the morning mental music stream. I have nothing against the song; I know it from the car radio. Driving in my car, doing errands, commuting to work, etc. It’s a bouncy tune with easily heard and appreciated lyrics, simple for a sing along, Maybe you know it and will sing along.

Coffee has established its presence in my system. I’m ready to get out into the snow and wind — didn’t mention the wind before, did I, but, yes, there is wind — and get down to bidness. Have the best day possible for yourself and yours. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Sattida’s Theme Music

Welcome, welcome, welcome. It’s Sattida, March 8, 2025. The spelling for today is inspired by memory of how one of my younger sisters used to pronounce the day. She was a sunny child. When I laughed and teased her about the way she said it, she glowered with thunder cloud intensity. That put an end to that.

Right now, we’re a 39 F but it’s climbing fast as the big swirling ball of energy breaches the blue sky. An upper limit of 64 F is expected, the weather ‘they’ tell us.

Happy International Women’s Day. International Women’s Day (IWD), marked annually on March 8, is a global day of recognition celebrating the social, economic, cultural and political achievements of women while also calling for increased gender equality.

This day has evolved from its early 20th-century socialist roots to a worldwide observance embraced by the United Nations and countless organizations globally.

The observance dates back to the first International Women’s Day in 1911 when over one million people across Europe protested for women’s suffrage and labor rights, according to UN Women.

Women are still protesting for women’s suffrage and labor rights, over 114 years later. As others note, as we witness it, the progress they’ve made is reversible. Many men will state things like, “I think it was a mistake to give women the right to vote.” So, apparently men are born with that right, but men gave it to women. What a crock of maladjusted, egotistical thinking.

The Neurons invited an Elton John song into the morning mental music stream. “Your Song” has lyrics written by Bernie Taupin. Released in 1970, I was fourteen. I found the song to be introspective, a person thinking about who they are, what they want, and where they’re going. That felt perfect for me in that age and era. Bernie wrote the song but Elton John found the inflections and tone to sharpen the focus and enrich the words’ sensibilities.

It’s in me this morning because of dreams. Not a specific dream but the way my dreams lifted me up. I admittedly view the world through a lens of disappointment. We we do not live up to our potential to be so much more. We seem to be regressing, perhaps even devolving. It could be true that we’re doing both of those things, and pondering the mechanics and influences which might make them true is a challenging bit of logic work on its own. Despite my outward anger and disappointment, I constantly experience uplifting and reassuring dreams these days. Like our state of the world, the why behind these dreams are worthy of their own thinking and writing time. We’re still explaining dreams as a species, trying to understand what creates them. Either way, my dreams’ uplifting nature feels like a gift. I’m just not sure who is sending it to me.

“Your Song” wasn’t featured in a dream, though, no. It came about from my thinking, “It’s funny how I feel inside despite my pessimism and disappointment.” It was a short flea jump from that bridge to Elton John’s opening vocals, “It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside.”

Hope your Sattida lives up to your needs and hopes. Coffee has been welcomed into my gullet once again. Time to rock another day. Cheers

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