Tag: Dream

Another Dream Car

One of my dreams last night left me puzzled but optimistic and in a better mood when I awoke. As I went over its details with myself, one part that captivated me was it featured my first car.

In the dream, I was a young man again, and I was driving my first car. This was a 1965 Mercury Comet. Forest green, it was a four door automatic sedan with a 289 V8.

Dad gave me the car. He’d recently remarried, and this was his new wife’s transpo. Dad bought himself a used service van at an auction to drive to and from work, and turned over his 1974 Chevy Monte Carlo to her to drive. I was completely blown away by their decision. They’d not talked to me about it ahead of time. Until then, I’d been hitching or walking to get around.

With a car, I suddenly had a dating life and began dating the girl who is my wife. Our dates were never much because, car or not, I didn’t have much money. Dad did give me gas money and a few bucks besides. But I was in high school and on sports teams, and local jobs in our rural region were scarce.

After graduating, I joined the military and went in for training. After I returned home from basic training and tech school, I drove that car three hundred miles through a snow storm to my new duty assignment at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Fairborn, Ohio. It was a taxing drive. Ice and snow were thick on the car by my journey’s end.

One day, the car wouldn’t start. It was probably a starter or selenoid switch. As it was a 1965 car and this was 1975, and it was a four-door sedan, I did what many guys would do, and bought my first used car, a sleek little 1968 Chevy Camaro with a 327 V8. Ah, fun car! Young car!

I left the Comet sitting in its parking spot. A man saw it sitting there without movement, hunted me down, and bought it. I’m not sure how much he gave me but I didn’t haggle. The thing is, though, when he went to change registration, he learned it was still Dad’s car.

Oh, yeah.

Dad was pretty pissed but the sale went through. I still laugh about it, and he still shakes his head.  

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Two Related Dreams

Two nights past, I dreamed I was being snatched. I was arriving at work each time, which amounted to showing up at a desk where a computer was set up. Others were there — all men, most in suits and ties — setting up their own computers or opening briefcases, talking on phones, or grabbing one another for a quick consult. No one noticed me. I was fine with that.

In the first snatch, a white, muscular man with short hair, wearing a sky-blue shirt, came up and grabbed me. As I struggled against him, demanding who he was, he carried me away. That’s essentially what happened with each snatching, and I think I was snatched a dozen times. A different man grabbed me every time but they were always white, with short hair (usually brown or blonde), wore a sky blue shirt, and had red arm tattooes.

But my reactions grew different, and I grew aware of the impending snatch attack, so the circumstances varied in degrees. During that first one, I was completely surprised. The second one, I was briefly startled but had time to worry about my wife, who was working at another space some distance away. The third time found me exasperated that it was happning again, and had me telling others to inform my wife what happened. The fourth instance, I was more resigned but appealed to the men around me to help me stop what was going on. That happened several more times. Each time I was taken, I was irritated that nobody paid attention, but that’s essentially where it ended; then I would arrive at work and get taken again. By the ninth time, I was expecting it and trying to figure out what to do to stop them. By the twelth, I tried immediately running away when I arrived. My captor expected that and I was easily taken.

Thinking about the dream the following morning, I thought it represented frustrations. At home, executing my budgeteer persona, I fix things and more things break. Likewise, I go to the doctor for one issue, get it resolved, and another arises. I feel like I’m on a bad news conveyor belt. My wife’s health is declining. Mom and Dad are both in spirals of decreasing health and increasing concern and have been for half a decade plus. Personally, I feel frustrated and thwarted by my fiction writing efforts. Politically and economically, I see my nation and the greater world becoming mired in increasing chaos of growing intensity. Personal rights and responsibility seem to be shrinking. I don’t feel like I can do much about any of them. This, frankly, pisseds me off.

So, last night, I dreamed I was tearing things down and rebuilding them. This was being done via huge slabs. I don’t know the slabs’ materials, but they were sized like large pizza boxes. Extremely hard and heavy, they were in shades of gray or black. Light didn’t reflect off them. Each was marked in large bas relief with ‘2804’. I’m clueless about what 2804 means.

At first, I was simply moving them. One at a time, I’d picked one up and relocate it to a new position. As I was doing this, I began pausing to consider my actions and be more selective about what slab I picked up and where I put it. I also started re-arranging some slabs that I previously moved. After some period of doing this, I wondered, what am I doing? I heard a voice respond, “You’re rebuilding.”

I reacted, “Oh, okay, cool. That’s good.” Finishing, “I need to rebuild,” I resumed lifting and moving the blocks with new energy.

Dream end.

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New Camaro Dream

Dreamed my wife and I went car shopping. I found a sleek new silver sports car. Turned out that it was a Chevy Camaro but it was completely unlike any Camaro previously produced. This car was low, wide, and fast. I didn’t see much of the exterior in the dream except that it was so brightly polished, its silver surface hurt my eyes.

I instantly like it and wanted to sell my wife on it. “Here, babe,” I said. “Take it for a drive.” I had to coax her because she doesn’t trust her driving skills. Finally relenting, she entered the car and got behind the wheel. The car was electric and made little sound. She was amazed. Then she began driving it. After a bit, she said through a big grin, “I really like this.” So we bought the car with dreamlike ease. The whole time, she remained behind the wheel. When I asked if she wanted to keep driving, she replied, “Yes. This is fun.” That pleased me.

We went to a parking garage. As she pulled the car into a slot, a group of young men came up and began hassling us. Annoyed, I told them to go away. At that point, I discovered that my wife had the car’s roof retracted. As I told her to put it up, one of the young men reached into the back and took out a brown folder of papers. I asked him to give them back. He mocked me and walked away with his friends. They began throwing the folder around as they would in a game of keep away. Getting angrier, I found a large orange and a large green papaya. I wrestled with what to do with them. As the man who first took the folder caught it, I hurtled the orange at him, hitting him in his ankle. He went down with a cry, complaining of pain. The rest didn’t know what had happened.

I went over and picked up the folder. A second man threatened me. I threatened him back with the papaya. Another guy laughed and said, “That’s just a papaya.” I hit him in the face with it, knocking him over. As he sat on his ass in pain and astonishment, I returned to the Camaro and my wife drove us away.

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Wenzda’s Theme Music

Wenzda is here, Wenzda is here! Yeah, I’m not that excited. I’m down today.

Regardless of my mood, it’s June 11, 2025. 66 F now, 86 F is the expected upper realm, a nice takedown from the 90s where we’ve been living. The high temps will be back, though. This is Ashlandia, and summer is coming.

My normal awakening process is to stir from sleep, reflect on dreams and then move into the realms of current events going on, personal issues and family, plans for the day and week, and so on. I’m not sanguine about any of those aspects of life. I feel like I’m teetering on depression. But, for me, it’s probably part of my regular cycles. My schedule didn’t permit me my luxury of writing, so I’m likely feeling that. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to do what’s wrong, trying to stand up for others and help others, trying to move us as nation, as a species forward. I wasn’t alone. Many others led the way and inspired me. It feels like everything that we did before now is being callously and stupidly clawed away by Trump and the right wing. To paraphrase Ceelo, “Fuck him, and fuck them, too.”

My version of the Statesboro Blues. Papi seemed to have them, too, incessantly talking to me for attention. I played with him with red dot. Got some lackluster results. Searching for an answer, I whipped out a long shoe string. Man, he went nuts over that, attacking and pouncing, racing away and coming back for more. It was a good time for both of us.

For a whim, I turned to the net and asked, “What was the number one song on billboard fifty years ago in the United States?” And this marvelous technological function called AI said told me it was “Me and Bobby McKee”. Now I know some brain cells have abandoned me but I know that wasn’t the song. Fifty years ago would have been 1975. The cited song came out years before. By 1975, the performer, Janis Joplin, was dead. But, of course, the jackass AI, just like so many other jackass search engines, focused on just one piece of the query and spit out a jackass answer:

“Fifty years ago today, March 23, 1971, the number one song on the Billboard Hot 100 was “Me and Bobby McGee” by Janis Joplin. The song was written by Kris Kristofferson and originally performed by Roger Miller, but became a hit for Joplin after her death.”

Like, hello, you fucking piece of technology, why are you giving me an answer for another month, day, and year? You trying to gaslight me OR are you just that worthless? All those Google answers, and none answered what I asked. But I THINK that had I asked that five years ago, the right answer would have been giving in .0217 seconds. Not this year, not in the year of the Great Trump Enshittification. 

For the record, I asked Microsoft Bing the same question. Here’s the top answer:

The number one song on the Billboard charts fifty years ago was12345:

  • “Grazing In The Grass” by Hugh Masekela (July 1968)
  • “Piece of My Mind” by Janis Joplin (posthumously released, after her death)
  • “My Guy” by Mary Wells (May 16, 1964)
  • “Downtown” by The Monkees (classic hit)
  • “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” by The Righteous Brothers (on a specific day)

Seriously, WTF Internet land. You guys have lost your way.

Try it for yourselves, please, kind readers. If you get some sane results, please let me know. I can use a little ray of sanity today.

Dark dreams flavored with bitterness and frustration ruled my night. From that mental morass, The Neurons brought up The Black Crowes with “She Talks to Angels” from 1991.

Nothing to do but push through. Have coffee. Enjoy the cool breezes coming through the windows right now, licking me like a giant dog. Drink more coffee. Write.

Cheers

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Twosda’s Theme Music

Munda’s temperature topped out at 99 F around my house. Thunderstorms rolled in. Enough rain drops were issued to prompt some petrichor but mostly the clouds blocked the sun and crashed the temp down to 83 F in less than an hour. Hurrah for that! Twosda, June 10, 2025, has a 91 F high on hand for Ashlandia.

I read Tangle’s coverage of the protests last night. Tangle presents sample right and left side reactions to the news. Nichole Russell’s USA Today’s article was cited for the right. Russell wrote this:

“It’s important to note that ICE agents aren’t arresting just anyone. The Department of Homeland Security reported that the arrests in Los Angeles included people accused of drug trafficking, assault, cruelty to children, domestic violence, robbery and the smuggling of illegal immigrants.”

She repeats several fact-free memes and basically wants us to trust the Department of Homeland Security and the masked ICE gunmen sent out snatch people off the streets. It’s important to note, these people are ‘accused’ of crimes, but, gosh, what happened to innocent until proven guilty? It’s important to note, the the ICE personnel rarely show faces, insigniar, badges, or documents. We’re supposed to trust these people hiding their faces.

I struggle to trust DHS and the Trump Regime. They’ve been caught lying, ignoring court orders, and dismissing the Constitution. They try to rearrange history and semantics to make it seem like not everyone in the United States is entitled to due process. Well, let me tell you, respect and trust aren’t given; they need to be earned. The Trump Regime and the right wing are doing nothing to earn either from me, with a few exceptions, as others remind me, such as Liz Cheney and Adam Kinzinger.

Today’s music is “Nowhere Man” by The Beatles. I can’t honestly pinpoint what The Neurons were thinking when they plugged the 1965 song into the morning mental music stream. It might have been caused by a dream. Could also be triggered by Trump antics as the lyrics go,

He’s as blind as he can be
Just sees what he wants to see
Nowhere man can you see me at all

I’m off to the dentist! See you in about five hours. Have the best one you can. Cheers

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Stub of A Strange Dream

I approached a tall and ancient tree wrapped in silvery fog. I had an impression that I’d been climbing for some time as I felt bone weary with effort. The foggy air had me shivering in the dream, but I think it was also nervousness. Stopping in front of the tree, I stared at the rough blackened gray bark. Slowly a face rose into the gnarly surface. Eyes opening, they moved around several moments before finding me. With unrelenting attention given to me, the face separated from the tree and slowly floated up into the sky. As it did, I found that the fog was gone. I watched the face floating away until it could no longer be seen, and I was alone with the tree, surrounded by a clear blue sky.

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A Dream In A Dream

I dreamed I plunged through a blue sky. Arms at my side, I wore a helmet and face plate. Bulleting thousands of feet, I made my hands into fists at the last minute, put my arms straight out in front of me, and crashed into a thickly iced sea. Breaking through the ice, I entered icy indigo water, then celebrated my success. I was meant to break through the ice and knew it could only be done from a great height.

I then awoke in my dream and remembered my ice-breaking sky dive and its outcome, and was pleased again. After that, was up and moving around. Dressed casually, today was my big day. I’d do the ice-breaking dive later that day. For now, I was just tying up loose ends. This was both my last day and my first day. I was crossing an intersection from what I’d been to what I would be.

My spirits were buoyant. Doubt kept flitting through me. Could I really do the ice-breaking dive? It seemed risky and dangerous. I reminded myself that I’d done it in a dream. Did a dream matter? No, but it had not been a dream, but a practice run. I pondered that as I went around outside, across broad green swaths, around copses of trees and small arrangements of modern buildings, often in white,, saying good-byes to others and hello to more.

I worried about some of the things I was leaving behind. These were military matters, such as readiness reports. But I told myself, that was their problem, not mine. I also didn’t think they did those things the same way that I did them. So, no, don’t worry, I told myself. Time to move on.

And that’s where the dream stopped. Or at least, my memory of it.

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The Parents Dream

I dreamed of my mother and father last night. Both are still alive. They ceased being a couple by 1961. Both have gone on to several other marriages and long-term relationships.

I’m not surprised that I dreamed about them. It’s Memorial Day weekend. Mom loves the holidays. If little else often worked out right, the holidays usually did. The food was sensational. Mom’s speciaities above everything else is fried chicken and potato salad. These foods figured prominently in the warm weather holidays of Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day. These were always large family affairs featuring picnics or cook-outs.

On the flip side, I only recall one Christmas with Dad. None of the rest. He and I get along pretty well. That’s not the issue. The issue was once he was away, I had to chose between Mom and Dad, and Mom had better food.

Back to the dream. In it, I was an adult. My two sisters who shared Mom and Dad as their biological parents were present, along with Mom and Dad. I was an adult, and Mom and Dad were the standard parents familiar to me from when I was eighteen to when I was sixty. Then they changed, bodies breaking down, in the old people they now are, restricted in their activities, dealing with medical issues, like, all the time.

But in the dream, we five were together as adults. Something had happened, some disaster, that forced us together. The dream didn’t give that info. So Mom and my sisters were moving into the place that I had shared with Dad in the dream, but not in real life. This was a small, wood-paneled dump. Tiny, cramped kitchen with dim lights. Old white refrigerator. Microwave on a fake wood stand. Tiny formica gray and silver table with four chairs. One of the ‘old-fashioned’ answering machines with microtapes.

And there were notes. This was part of some complex, which had a pool and a clubhouse. Dad had a stack of notes. This was familiar to me in the dream but not anything he’d ever done in real life. It was his handwriting, though. These were codes and bank account numbers, phone numbers for different people and organizations. I’d glanced through them on arrival.

In the dream, Mom, walking around in a fake fur coat, said, “Jim, we need the access code. Can you give it to us?”

I took some digs at Mom. I’d seen her snooping; Mom was always and forever a secret, furtive snoop, a trait which my oldest sister developed. After that dream, I saw that connection very clearly. Mom used to do things in secret and tell us children, “Don’t tell anyone.”

So, in the dream, I chuckled and asked Mom, “You didn’t find it when you were snooping around.”

Mom issued the standard warning with her eyes and mouth that said, ‘Quiet, don’t talk about that.’ Dad was his typical tight-lipped and silent individual, dismayed by what transpired around him.

I went on to Mom, “Oh, come on, Mom. We all know how you snoop and I say you doing it while Dad was in the other room.” Then I went on to Dad, “What’s the code, Dad? Is it 03? I saw that written down over there. I also saw 258. Is it one of them?”

Dad eventually revealed the code, which I don’t remember. That’s when the dream fades out on me. But it opened my eyes about my parents as I reviewed the dream later.

3

Frida’s Theme Music

I’m still riding a good mood. Knock on wood, right? Well, depends on your age and beliefs, I guess. I was speaking with someone the other day who claimed that ‘knocking on wood’ was to summon good spirits. I always heard/slash read it was the opposite: to scare off evil spirits or to avoid tempting fate.

Today is Frida, May 23, 2025. Sunny in Ashlandia, we’re anticipating a warm stretch. It’s not going to be a steady rise. Today will be 75, tomorrow will be 82 F, and then it drops a little again before rising into the nineties by Wenzda. Clouds lurk like spectators at a crime scene but blue sky and sunshine are on the main stage.

Per usual in Trumpland, the news is a blender full of good and bad news. Supreme Court rulings, miscarriage of justice, vindictive DOJ action on Trump’s behalf, redistribution of wealth to the wealthy at everyone else’s expense catch most of my attention. I was intrigued to see how expensive beef is becoming. I don’t eat much beef so prices have skyrocketed without me noticing. Lot of it is driven by Texas beef and the cost of feed. The cost of feed has increased because of drought. Don’t worry; Trump will be all over this, as he’s a big advocate of addressing climate change. Yes, that’s snark. We know Trump will try to blame former President Joe Biden and the Democrats for it. I’ll just shake my head and move on until the rest catchup. With tariffs on beef from multiple countries, beef prices are set to increase more.

Today’s music is related to a dream. I was in the kitchen, chatting with Papi, aka butter butt, about his brekkie when dream snippets floated in on my brain waves. As more dream made its way into memory, I recalled an individual in the dream telling me, “Don’t forget me when I’m gone. I won’t forget you.” It’d been a touching dream scene.

The Neurons were on that like Trump jumping on a woman. “Don’t Forget Me (When I’m Gone)” was soon playing in my morning mental music stream. I had no idea what year it came out or who performed it. The net helped me learn that it was 1986 and a Canadian group called Glass Tiger.

Alright. Got my coffee at the coffee shop. Sunshine is warming the outside world, and shadows grow shorter and sharper as we move into the afternoon. It’s Memorial Day weekend and vehicle traffic in Ashland has jumped. Hope you have an awesome day. Cheers

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A Short Weird Dream

I dreamed that I had a blue SUV. I think it was a Chevy or GMC. It was one of the larger varieties but a recent model

The vehicle required work. I didn’t know what was wrong with it and wanted to check the SUV out, so I lifted it up and put it on its rear end. It was too tall for me, so I shrank it by motioning with my hands using them like I was squeezing the vehicle, until I was a few inches taller than it.

A person witnessing all of this asked, “How did you do that?” They went on to explain what they witness, adding, “I’ve never seen anyone do anything like that.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. I just knew I could, so I did.”

Dream end.

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