Category: miscellaneous

Vivid Dreams Again

I binged vivid dreams again last night. The most striking one found me as an alien. I didn’t look like one; I looked human as I do now, though younger.

Living among humans, I’d been hired by a secret government agency to infiltrate a group of five women and get close to them. My employers thought the women were the aliens. The five were gorgeous women, I guess in their thirties, intelligent and educated. The five didn’t know that I knew all of them. Each thought that I was having a relationship with them. I quickly became intimate with three of them. The other two held me off a bit, moving more cautiously. I was comfortable with that because I knew those two didn’t need to be intimate to spill their secrets. They just needed to trust me, and they did.

The whole time, I knew they were humans, and not aliens, but I yielded to the agency’s desires to find intelligence on them because this allowed me insight into the government’s analysis and planning.

Then, recovering one of my alien powers, I duplicated myself so that I could be with all five women simultaneously. To further my endeavor, I also created a dup of me that met with my bosses. I had one mind shared among the six so I could gather greater understanding. I treated the whole thing as a lark.

Then, dream pivot, I was called out from those locations. I was being given a prize, a high honor to recognize my great contributions. I didn’t know what they were talking about but being the devious mutt that I was, I was eager to accept these accolades. Five of my six beings had to be re-integrated into one, as easily done as walking through a door.

The worst part of it was that reintegrating into one made me appear about five years younger than before. As people saw me and remarked in astounded tones about my youthful appearance, I laughed it off and told them it came from easy living.

Dream end.

1

A Prize Dream

I was in some amorphous school. I never got a good handle about what it was. People aged up into their fifties were there. We lived, worked, and played there, but also had other homes.

Some kind of reward program was initiated to honor the best and brightest. Admin wasn’t forthcoming about what was going on. Meanwhile, with my wife and others visiting, I was working on an art project, using trash and garbage to make things, really just goofing around and exploring. I’d made dozens of objects, nothing impressing to my eye, just killing time, when I was summoned to another room. There, I was told I’d won and could select any prize from anyone. Well, I still didn’t understand. Like, won what? I learned that twelve had been chosen and I was one of them. I’d been selected to receive the first prize but that didn’t mean that I was first. It just meant that I was one of the twelve.

I walked through the school’s maze, looking for a prize to select. Others congratulated me as I did. Another student told me that a male teacher was overheard saying that he hoped that I wouldn’t be one of them, because he couldn’t stand me, and then I was the first one chosen, which upset the teacher.

I hadn’t found a prize I wanted so I started changing to leave. As I got down to my shirt and boxer shorts, other students found me and told me to go with them because they found a prize which they thought I’d like. So I went and yes, the gave me a prize, which I don’t remember. I started some four-year-old boys with their father watching. He was a friend and another of the selected winners, and the prize I’d taken was something he’d made. I felt a little embarrassed about it and apologized to him, but he waved it off, telling me, those are the rules. One of the boys announced that he didn’t want to play with me because I’d soiled myself.

Flabbergasted, shocked, and embarrassed, I covered my rear and left, but I hadn’t soiled myself. At that point, I saw another of the prize winners going by. Preparing to leave, they’d selected all of my art as their prize and was taken it with them.

End dream.

0

A Celebration

Another friend has passed away. He beat cancer four years ago. Earlier this year, he said it had returned. Last time I saw him, he looked wan, gaunt, tired. He had beautiful brown eyes which glint with humor, mischief, and intelligence. All were absent that last time that I saw him. He didn’t speak much. He told us he was going to a family reunion in Europe. On his return two months ago, he told us that he was withdrawing from our weekly beer group meetup. I had a bad feeling.

But I’m not here to grieve. Grieving has worn me down. Death, sickness, and illness are all regular segments in the great cycle of life. Better instead to celebrate the friendships and love of these people who complete the circle and go on. We don’t know what they go on to. I just know what he’s left behind. I’m pleased that he took time to be a friend and join me to tip back a beer once a week and talk politics, philosophy, science, art, pop culture, music, and literature. He’d tell me about his life and his travels, how much he loved his father and sisters, what he and his daughter do as traditions, how proud he was of her.

I cherish those days and will as long as I can. And I will celebrate that such a person lived. My face still hurts with feelings of loss and tears sully my vision, but that’s me wallowing in self-pity that I lost such a friend. No more, no more. I will celebrate the human I knew and how he made me laugh, think, and wonder. And sometimes I’ll raise a beer and have a drink, and smile, as if he’s still there.

0

And Another Thing…

It’s a little rant…

The Evidation website’s FAQs, contact information, and other details are on the page’s bottom. But each time I scroll down, more history of what I’ve done is brought up. The net is, I can never reach the page’s bottom. Exasperation reaches sufficient levels after less than half a minute of trying that I I throw my hands up.

Screw that. Things like that are so frustration. I have better things to do than cultivate more frustration coping with their poor design.

0

Tuesday’s Wandering Thought

Seeing the date, he remembers forty-eight years ago. A Friday, he reported early to the enlistment place, signed papers and took an oath. His girlfriend came down to say good-bye at lunch time. An hour later, he got on his first airplane ride and flew across the country to San Antonio, Texas, to go to Lackland AFB and begin basic training. He was eighteen years old.

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Head In A Jar Dream

We had a head in a jar. Dream knowledge told me it was a clay jar yet it was sufficiently clear to see the head inside. Not completely clear, but filmy and gauzy, as though petroleum jelly was smeared over it.

The head was in a cloudy pale-green liquid, and was male, white, and venerated. Now, on a pedestal, in the middle of scrubland, one other man and I had it. The other man was tall, spare, and mostly silent. Older, but I couldn’t give an age. He seemed to lack interest in the head jar.

I, though, tried singing to it. I thought that if we sang to it, it would sing back. Though the head’s eyes would look at me, and it would blink, it wouldn’t sing back. The other man wouldn’t sing either. That didn’t affect my mood. I remained optimistic and energetic. I then started prattling other ideas to him about the head in the jar. Maybe we should take it to a market and sell it. We could get good money for it. Or we can set it up in a square and I’ll ask others to sing with me to see if we could get the head to sing. I spoke to the head, asking it, what do you want us to do?

A hunter, armed with a compound bow and arrows, dressed in woodland camouflage vest, hat, and pants, came along. I quietly watched him. He saw the head in a jar on a pedestal, but went on, looking for animals to shoot.

The army came along, as expected. This was an army of the people. They walked, but didn’t march, in orderly rank and file. Most wore ragged clothing. All ages, races, and sexes were in it. My older, silent friend and I joined them, and the head in the jar was given to someone to carry. I was leading one large group, but in an unofficial capacity. On a road, we were supposed to keep up with the other groups but were going too slowly. Impatiently, I urged them, “Come on, we must keep up.” We’d been warned not to get separated because that would leave us exposed and vulnerable to attack. I saw the group ahead pulling away. I walked faster, thinking that my example might prod the group to walk faster. No; they instead dawdled and began chatting about trivial ideas. Exasperation building, I walked faster, becoming separated from both groups. But being in the middle, I could see them both and thought, if something were to happen to one group, I could turn to the other group to help.

We came to broad creek running low in a sandy, rocky basin. As I went to the water to drink, my group caught up to me. One said, “We know that women like you.” As I laughed at them, he continued, “We’ve all seen the way they react to you.”

End of dream.

2

Monday’s Wandering Thought

She would have been called a troubled teenager. Drinking too much, dropping out of school, becoming pregnant, marrying before she was seventeen, her life had taken turns that we didn’t expect from such an intelligent and charming person.

Two divorces, two children, and forty-five years later, she acquired her GED, graduated college with a B.S., runs a family business, is a grandmother of three, and is also a professional. She’s the one we turn to for help. She’s strong, stable, and reliable, the person we thought she would be before she became a troubled teen.

0

Sunday’s Wandering Thought

He and his sister were talking about words. She said, “You know where spitting image comes from?”

No.

“It was originally spirit in image. It was a religious reference. Somehow it got twisted into spitting image. I think it’s probably from someone’s accent confusing people, so they thought someone was saying spitting image instead of spirit image.

He later searched for origins, and spirit in image wasn’t mentioned. Shame, though, it sounded like a good story.

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