Tag: warnings

Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts

I’ve been hearing a little voice in my head. Well, there are actually a few. I live by a committee of voices in my head. Some are writing advisors, editors, and muses. Others are DIY budgeteers. Several more very vocal citizens and progressives are in there, often spitting mad with exasperation and disgust as the Trump wrecking ball obliterates democracy, decency, and morality in the United States. Besides them and voices of memory who like to bring up things I have done and enjoyed, I also have a couple health consultant voices, a few therapists and exercise coaches, and relationship advisors. On the whole, they’re mostly civilized, respecting the other voices, only speaking up when the others are quiet.

One thing I’ve learned from all of these is not to ignore them. As time has threaded past, I’ve repeatedly been re-educated that the little voices often know a lot more than me about what’s going on and what I should do. When I ignore them, things will go bad, as they predict. Naturally, they then say, “I told you so. You should’ve listened.”

So I’m vowing to them again, “Okay, I’m listening.”

Naturally, one snidely replied, “Sure.”

The voices are a lot like me.

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End of World Dreams

I’m covering two of my three end of world dreams from last night. First, these dreams had very dark settings. Most of the first one took place underground or at night.

Another aspect that fascinated me about the dreams was how it combined elements of my military career with my IBM employment. Trippy mind work going on there. And now, the dreams.

I was working for IBM and it wasn’t going well. Exhausted from working and trying to save our division, many of us were sleeping at work, going twenty-four hours to try to save it. But we’d run out of time and knew the division was going to be shut down. Worse, and more surreally, we realized that the world was ending. How and why it was ending, the dream never covered. But this was something I knew, and was continually in the back of my dream mind.

To start, I’d been sleeping on the floor in my work office. It’s totally dark. I have a few private possessions and clothing, and that’s it. Voices awaken me. I listen and recognize our division director dismally describing the situation: world ending, division ending, shutting down. We were hanging on to our jobs because it gave us some hope that something could be done to stop the end of the world. Now he’s saying, we failed.

His comments stir me into a restless fit. I pace, trying to brainstorm about what we can do. Crazy ideas emerge but nothing sensible. I want to go talk to him about it, so I dress and head out, tracking him down.

The office area is built on a rock-strewn coastline. I clamber over rocks to find the director. He vaguely knows me. I throw out some ideas and he thanks me but tells me, they’ve already shot down those ideas because we don’t have the resources. It’s all dark doom and gloom.

I wander into another section and find an unused office. Turns out, the IBM offices are built on top of an old military base. The office used to be a missile control center. Finding a key, I put it into a dusty receptacle and turn it.

From elsewhere, I hear alarmed chatter that there are lights on: a missile is firing. I’m horrified to discover that I’ve turned a key to launch a nuclear missile. I’m also shocked; apparently, this one was overlooked when the nukes were removed. I frantically attempt to turn back the key but fail. Finding the director and other people, I try to reassure them that the nuke won’t detonate because it wasn’t armed, but I’m not sure. I’m pretty certain that high explosive are in the warhead and will detonate. I speculate that could cause the nuke to go off.

I run out to watch it. The missile launches into the dark sky. Huge ocean waves are crashing into the buildings, tearing them down. Shouting warnings to others, I climb the slippery rocks and escape.

Time slips past. I’m now surviving with three other men in the remaining office complex. We walk around setting small fires to keep warm and looking for food. We’ve found a cache, so we’re not too worried. I’ve also found a radio and keep tuning it, attempting to pick up radio stations and get some news. I worry about some of the fires they’ve set because they’ve put them under wall calendars and posters, which are catching fire.

“So?” Others ask. “What’s going to happen? We’ll burn down the building? It’s the end of the world.” Although I understand what they’re saying, I’m thinking that they have a bad attitude about surviving.

We drift out of the building to find other survivors. We end up in an underground tunnel in a yellow taxi. I’m driving. The tunnel is dully lit with dim yellow lights. To proceed further, we need to stop at a toll gate. There are three lines. Two lines are hugely backed up. The third has no one waiting. We pull up to the gate for the third ine. I get out to talk to the gate attendant, a short, swarthy guy, and ask him, “Can we use this gate? We don’t have any money — “

He interrupts me by showing me a finger, wait. As this happens, a blond woman in a green skirt comes up and reminds the gate attendant that the gate we’re at is to only be used by VIPs and emergency personnel. She leaves and he turns to me and says, “Now you can.” I understand him to mean we can use it because she’s gone. I thank him and asks, “But how much does it cost?” He replies, “No charge.”

I awaken and think all that through. Falling back asleep, I have another dream about the end of the world. It’s burning, and I know it’s ending.

Another dream begins, and I’m with the other three men again. We’re just leaving the toll gate and enter a building. In there, we find some other people and plentiful supplies, including alcohol. We basically decide to drink and get drunk. Why not? The world is ending.

We’re sitting around drinking and hear the outer door open. Investigating, we find four woman entering. They tell us they were looking for someone to party with since the world is ending. We tell them that we have alcohol and invite them to join us. They agree, and men and women pair off.

My companion is a short, chubby woman. She and I begin making out but she becomes morose about the of the world and starts crying. I try consoling her with hugs and some positive statements but she goes on about how so many people are gone and it’ll all be over soon, which is why she and her friends were looking for someone to party with. She and I go back to the main room, where the others are also arriving. All have had the same situation, that the women are sad and crying. They live.

Dream end. I awoke and realized with surprise that it was part of the first dream because of the background situation, my companions, and the setting.

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Another Porsche Dream

Here we go. I dreamed about a Porsche last night. It didn’t belong to me, and it was two pieces.

Let’s step back to what I start remembering of the dream.

I was attending some function being held outside. Pleasant late summer weather ruled. A picnic atmosphere prevailed. I have no idea what triggered the gathering, nor my role. Although I never ‘saw’ other people in the dream for a while, sounds informed me they were present.

The first startling thing was the Porsche.

I came across the rear first. Mounted on a piece of asphalt roadway, the car’s rear was planted in a position that lead me to think that the car was plowing into the ground.

Then, almost immediately, I saw the front end. Facing in the same direction, mounting on a piece of road, it seemed to be emerging from the earth about forty yards away. An older vintage spyder with the top down, it seemed to be a model 365, a car which I like, gray or silver in color.

Oh, what they do for art, I thought. I wondered if it was original, and if it had an engine, and the crazy artist’s identity.

Announcements began from a person holding a megaphone. They were gauzy with distance. I didn’t recognize anything about them.

I discovered that the car belonged to a ‘director’. Little details emerged except the director was a a tall, slender woman with a short blonde bob in a red dress, no one I knew.

The director wanted somebody to drive the car, giving others rides in it for a fee which would be donated to charity. Were there any volunteers?

Silence answered. I spoke up, clarifying what was being asked. I pondered, was there another Porsche involved? Then I discovered the intact car in front of me.

Naturally, I was surprised. I looked at the artwork installation. The road pieces remained but the car pieces were gone. Miraculously to me, they were a solid car. I tried to understand how that happened.

“I’ll drive it,” I volunteered. The chance to drive a vintage Porsche thrilled me. This was going to be fun.

Keys were given to me, and instructions about my agenda. First I was to drive the car to another location.

The director made another announcement; “My car is dirty. I need a volunteer to wash my car.”

Again, nobody spoke so I said that I would do it. That pleased me. Weird as it may sound, I enjoy washing, cleaning, and polishing cars.

In a dream jump, that was done. I was driving the little spyder, top down, on a two lane road. The car, which is a two-seater sports vehicle, now had a big seat, and I had four or five passengers. I could glimpse in the car’s rearview mirror, and heard them chattering, and laughing, enjoying the ride.

I pressed the brake pedal to slow us as we came up on traffic. The car slowed some but we ended up bumping into the car in front of us. It wasn’t a hard impact. I was embarrassed and surprised, and hoped I’d not caused any damage.

The other driver, a bland guy, and I met at the bumpers. He looked at it and shrugged, waving it off. I didn’t see any damage to the Porsche, so I climbed back in and set off.

Though I planned and adjusted for the car’s weak brakes, I almost rear-ended another. This really dismayed me.

“Just as I thought,” I told my wife. “This car has next to no brakes. That’s why it took so long to stop. I’ll need to be careful.”

On those words, the dream ended. I came away thinking that I can step up but exercise some caution. I took that from volunteering when others wouldn’t. However, the brakes weren’t working as expected, hence the idea that caution is needed.

Conversely, my neurons were just having fun with me.

The choices seem equally plausible.

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A Quasi Military Dream

I was recalled to active service, except, it was all very casual. I wasn’t required to wear a uniform or go anywhere, but I received an assignment that I was to ‘go around and check the gas stations’.

My wife was with me. All I did was drive about to gas stations. It’s unclear how I was ‘checking’ them. She left to go get on my next assignment.

She returned with the information. We went to a new house. It was fantastic, gorgeous, white with wonderful views through floor to ceiling windows. We went up steps to the second floor to explore and were talking, telling one another how lucky we were to have such a house.

A man rushed in. He identified us and then said, “You need to leave now,” in a strong, authoritative voice.

My wife asked, “What do you mean?”

He replied, “You need to evacuate RIGHT NOW.”

My wife replied with a hard nod, “Okay, we will.”

Dream end.

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The Tiny Horses Dream

We began with my wife and I in a car. I was driving. We were a young couple. Our car was a tiny but new silver import. As I went to turn right, I became aware of other cars racing up around me. Unable to see them, I just stopped the car as they went past, including a small, bright red car. Several turned right up the street that I was going to use. My wife and I talked and complained about the cars. I turned right and went up the hill into a modern housing plan. We immediately saw several wrecked cars, including the red car. As we commented that there was an accident, I realized that there were many more wrecked cars, and that there hadn’t been an accident; they had been attacked.

I stopped the car, but we stayed in it. I started to call the police on my cell phone but we heard sirens growing louder. Although we thought the police would want to question us, I was more worried about our safety and drove home.

We were in our house. It was a massive but beautiful, rambling place, with several levels. Airy, well-furnished, with many windows. Very clean.

One door led downstairs where we had several suites of rooms. These connected with other people’s places. We discovered a large, strange family had purchased one of the neighboring places. They were settling in. From their clothes and accents, it seemed like they were from a rural area and had just moved to the city. Talking to a female teenager, though, I learned that her mother just retired from the Navy and had moved there to take a new job.

Meanwhile, the new family was going into our rooms that were attached to their area. A few of them began moving some of their items in our rooms. I went upstairs and talked to my wife, confirming that those were our rooms. We then found a warning written in red marker on a brown paper bag on the floor: “I CAN FIND YOU.” The writing was terrible, but we were unnerved because it was in our house. I suspected that whoever did this came in through the downstairs part that connected to neighbors’ houses. I went down to try to make it secure so no one could get in that way. I realized that I couldn’t, and complained that this was one of the house’s shortcomings. I then told the new people that they couldn’t use those rooms because they were our rooms. They were confused and this entailed some extended conversations with different people, including the mother, before they understood. One aspect was emerged was the mother had pink skin and platinum blonde hair but two of her sons were very swarthy and hairy, and her daughters seemed Hispanic. There seemed to be about ten children running around. It was very confusing.

We got into our car to go somewhere. The car was a green golfcart. Rain started falling. I drove past railroad tracks. Glancing right, I thought I saw a tiny horse. I told my wife and then started trying to turn around to see it again. Reports came to us that a tiny horse had been spotted trapped on the railroad tracks. My wife urged me to go rescue it. Rain was pouring. Although I knew the tracks were no longer used, I agreed to rescue the horse, but thought I needed to get some tools first, so we went by our place.

When we arrived at the tracks, we discovered two tiny brown horses. Located on a sidetrack used for deliveries, these horses were smaller than cats. They weren’t trapped and didn’t need rescued. They were pretty lively, as evidenced by them starting to play with a white and calico cat that showed up.

The rain had ceased. We got out of our car to watch the two tiny horses as they played with the cat.

Dream end

SIDE NOTE: I’ve dreamed about this house, a sprawling place with a downstairs that connected to several other homes, multiple times before. It’s weirdly familiar.

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Three Dream Vignettes

I experienced three highly detailed, vivid dreams last night, all in a row, flowing from one to the other. First up.

I’m in a car driving in a city in the late afternoon to early evening. I’ve come up to a large and busy intersection. The light is red. I have friends in other cars. We’re all going somewhere. My wife is with me in the car.

I think the light is green and go forward. In a flash, like it’s a film being shown, I see cutaways to friends in other cars saying, “Why is Michael going? The light is red. He shouldn’t be going.” They blow their horns.

I’m driving through the intersection. My wife shouts, “What are you doing? The light is red.”

I’m looking up through the windshield. The light is red, but I thought it was a green light. I’m certain that I saw one.

The traffic turning left against us is light. The drivers of those cars are aware that I’m not doing something right. They give me space and distance. No one is hurt except me and my pride. What is wrong with me?

I pull over to the curb. I’m alone in the car. I’m trying to understand why I thought there was a green light. I look up in time to see a young driver execute in the other direction. He’s driving a mid-sixties Pontiac GTO. Classic muscle car. It’s in impressive condition, with a well-maintained, shiny body. As I watch, this young white guy, maybe seventeen years old, does a U turn and hits the side of my car.

I can’t believe this. He’s pulled over. I get out of my car and look at the damage. My car is silver. The damage is light, toward the rear quarter panel. I approach him, and tell him, “You know the drill. License, registration, insurance.” He’s crying because he just got his license. He knows he’ll face trouble. I feel sympathy for him.

My wife comes up. I ask for the camera. She starts making demands about how this will be handled, wanting me to make promises. We get into an argument. She won’t give me the camera. Irritated, I find my computer to take pictures. I know I can, but, the computer is missing its two AA batteries needed for the camera aspect. But, I have batteries in another part of the computer, use those and take the photos needed.

Number two.

I’m talking to a friend and mentioned something about the Chevy El Camino. I ask him if he knows what they are and how they look. He’s not familiar with it, so I tell him I’ll draw a picture of one. For whatever reason, I’m referring to the fourth-generation design from the early to mid 1970s. I’m explaining the design details as I draw it, talking about the front grill, and how it went from a single headlight to a double-stacked headlight on either side. I realize that I’m drawing on top of another drawing someone has done. I’m astonished. How did I not see that?

I don’t want to draw on another’s drawing. It’s a landscape, sort of a primitive style executed in charcoal. I admire it, erase my drawing, and find another piece of paper. I think it’s blank but as I begin drawing again, I see that there is a drawing on it.

I’m amazed. Why can’t I see those drawings before I begin drawing?

Number three.

We’ve arrived at a huge factory. Besides the factory, it has a large administrative/office section. I’m with a party of friends, all male. I think there are twenty of us. None of them are people known from RL but I know all of them in the dream.

A young brunette woman with a ponytail is showing us around the building. When we walk into one part, we men all start laughing. A tall space, it’s divided into sections and cubicles and is stacked from floor to ceiling with mechanical equipment and electronic gear. I exclaim, “This is exactly the kind of place that I used to work in.” The other men are saying the same thing. We’re all laughing and agreeing, it’s just like where we used to work. We just walk around, talking about the environment. I follow the path, remembering where my cubicle would have been located. In RL, I never worked in a place like this, but in the dream, I turn a corner, and there is my old workstation. Pointing it out to the rest, I laugh. When they see my station, they go off and start finding their own old workstations. How is this possible, we wonder, because we all worked in different places?

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Comfloofications

Comfloofications (floofinitions) – Ability among animals to pass messages to one another through one or more channels, such as smell, sound, or touch. Note: When done by cats via whiskers, sniffing, and rubbing, comfloofications is often referred to as catmunications. 

In use: “People approaching the bush upset the bird guarding her nest. Her comfloofications about an approaching threat caused a digesting deer to stand up and pay close attention.”

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