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Crazy Ass Dreams
  • So, like I mentioned in the FB thread, I don’t remember much of my dreams these days, but I recently found a dream journal from my 20s with some crazy ass REM scribbles. Here’s one to start off - the only time I can remember writing (or transcribing) a poem from my dreams.

    With a few companions, I am summoned to a demonstration put on by a new music troupe (3 men, 1 woman). The demonstration is of a tantric sexual exercise called


    It begins with one man penetrating the woman scissor-like, she below, he above. The intercourse is observed by the two other members of the group, who simultaneously compose a written accompaniment, looking back and forth between the act and the composition, like portrait artists. The dream ends as the following writing scrolls before the attendees:









  • That´s very evocative!

    I´ve remembered an unusual amount of dreams in the last few weeks. The weirdest one was probably the one in which I was going to get married, and some friends of mine from university got this one dude that I used to be friends with from a message board I was on in my teens (and whom I´ve been in no contact with for years) to sign a card for me, and when I asked them how they knew this guy, and, more confusingly, how they knew that I knew him, they wouldn´t say. That dream later somehow seemed to transform into a dream in which I was organising an academic conference at my grandparents´ house and realised only on the morning of day 2 that we only had a single shower for several hundred participants. I didn´t even know we had several hundred participants until they were all queueing up to take a shower! And all the while, my office roommate was in the one single shower stall, not showering but talking to someone on her mobile phone, oblivious to the fact that about a hundred people were out there, waiting for her to come out.

    This is already the second dream I´ve had involving academic conferences and queues for showers, so I wonder what the fuck that is about. I have no memorable shower experiences related to any conference I´ve ever been to.

    Last night, I had a dream in which I was close to finishing my PhD, but I suddenly realised that I´d forgotten to hand in my MA thesis. As in, it had been finished for years, but I hadn´t handed it in because I still wanted to proofread it one last time, and then I forgot. In the same dream, my boyfriend and I, as well as my brother and his wife, had moved to Leuven (which is the city that my boyfriend moved away from so we could both live together, and not at all the same place where my brother and his wife own a house which they very recently renovated for a whole lot of money), but somehow immediately after moving there, we forgot that we had friends there. So around the same time I realised that I´d forgotten to submit my thesis, I also realised that I´d forgotten to hang out with all of our friends.

  • Being responsible for 100 people queuing for a shower is quite a nice representation of anxiety! I have a lot of teaching ones - L-shaped classrooms, chaotic piles of papers, an infinite sea of disinterested heads bowed and thumb-tapping over their iphones, that sort of thing.

    I keep a record of mine, I don’t really know why. Anyway, it’s all a bit tl;dr but here are a couple:


    It’s the middle of the night and I am outside my childhood friend, Jason Boxall’s house in Glebelands Close, a partitioned little row of terraced houses in Shoreham-By-Sea. It’s dark and quiet, and I am with 2 or 3 other people whose identities never become clear. I am worried that the people inside the house will think we are up to no good, and I feel an anxious need to reassure them that we are not a threat.

    I open the flap of the letter box in the Boxalls’ front door. The kitchen light is on and there is a small boy there, 7 or 8 years old. It might be Justin, Jason’s younger brother. I tell him it’s alright, that I’m Nick, Jason’s old school friend, and that we don’t mean any harm.

    Suddenly the mood changes. My associates shout a warning and I turn and join them, running and getting into a parked car in front of the house. Someone shouts, “Quick, it’s Bowie! He’s got a gun!“ and I manage to glimpse David Bowie over my shoulder before ducking into the car. He’s glammish, but with short blonde hair, stalking towards us with a determined but unhurried menace, a shotgun cocked in his arm. Movements, both my own and those of the car, become thick, laboured, a gloopy, dreamlike slow-motion, and we aren’t going to get away from the danger in time.

    I am in the car, in the passenger seat. My point of view is across at least 2 other people to my right when Bowie draws up level with the slowly moving driver’s side window. He smashes the window with the barrel of the gun and points it past the others, straight at me. Twice he shoots and bullets rip past me as I hopelessly wriggle and squirm to move my head out of the way. As he takes aim for a third shot, I’m incredulous that he has missed from such close range and completely convinced that he next shot will explode my head like a watermelon.


    John Peel and another person (who I think is his wife, Sheila) are in a small room. I am not present, but feel as though I am spying, or eavesdropping from outside the room. Peel is sat at a computer and Sheila is further back, kneeling at a low table, looking for something. The room is a bit dingy and cramped.

    It becomes clear that they are looking for one of Ellie’s drawings which she has done for her Art teacher. Sheila is worried that they can’t find it. I can see the yellow folder icons on the computer screen as Peel casually locates it in the computer bookmarks.

    Ellie’s drawing is on the computer screen now, together with a short (but very grown-up sounding) note to her teacher that she has written. As Peel reads out the note from my daughter, I feel emotional. Even in the dream, I consider the strangeness of the situation as I know Peel is dead, and I find the sound of his voice very powerful. Ellie’s name is at the bottom of the note, but the surname has changed into something ridiculous.

  • I love that David Bowie and John Peel cruise through your dreams, Nick.

    Do you know the Bongwater track about dreaming David Bowie? David Byrne shows up too!

  • Wow, that might be the first time I’ve ever heard Bongwater. I like it. Kind of like Kristin Hersh fronting the Butthole Surfers in a tribute to The Velvs’ The Gift.

  • Bongwater is basically Ann Magnuson’s ideas with Kramer’s production. They were a big part of college for me. Touchstone album is The Power of Pussy, but Too Much Sleep and Double Bummer are awesome too.

  • For I a while I kept remembering music from my dreams (in such a way that I could kind of recreate- I posted one on the Old Forum) but it hasn’t happened in a while. Bit of a drag.

  • I dreamt something about peacocks last night. Like, I think I was living in a library and she came to visit me. I had a terrible haircut. The haircut part is also true in real life.

  • Also finally listened to that Bongwater song and it was awesome. Going to check out more.

  • I dreamed that I was hanging out with Lil’ B. I was backstage at one of his concerts. It was a really big one; he was playing an arena. Around halfway through his set, he put everything on hold in order to address the concerns of his detractors, in this case represented by none other than Ellen Degeneres herself. He asked Ellen on stage with him, and things basically became a talk show for a while. B impressed Ellen with his ability to summon things for her—a comfortable leather chair, a boutique craft cocktail (some kind of dark boozy looking thing that had a tomato on it and a dash of basil), etc. He quickly and easily charmed her into becoming a Lil’ B fan, despite her initial reservations. Once this portion of the set was over, he went back to doing his songs, and put on a killer performance.

    Afterwards, we were all hanging out in some house. The BasedGod was off doing his thing, having alone time I think, meditating maybe. There were tiny little kittens everywhere. They were incredibly cute, though we were worried that one was missing. I was in the kitchen, defending Lil’ B and his project to someone who thought the whole thing was just stupid. I seemed to be pretty successful in winning over my friend, when we were interpreted by a talking plant who floated in the air.

    Now, I need to say that in the dream, this was not out of the ordinary. I was not at all confused or frightened by this creature. In fact, he was my friend Gary, and he was really drunk.

    “But can you name songs?” he asked. “Were you there when Elvis first arrived on the scene? Do you remember? If you were, do you think you could even name any of his songs?”

    I got really upset by what he was saying to me, and it lead to a physical altercation. We wrestled around some, and finally I threw Gary the Floating Plant Creature (Whose Very Existence Wasn’t Weird at All) to the ground. Soil went everywhere (though he wasn’t potted; I’m not certain where the soil came from). I felt bad that I had hurt him, but I realized that I needed to help my brother take care of the kittens, because the one we were going to keep had gone missing.

  • That was awesome, thank you.

  • That was fantastic, yes! Thanks for sharing.

  • Jeb, you are Lil B Task Force to the core. Awesome dream.

  • Here’s one more from ye olde dream journal, Dec ‘95.

    I am venturing out to an open space preserve with a large reservoir in the center of the park. I leave my car at the entrance, and begin walking up a dirt path into the mountains. I notice that several other cars are parked here, on either side of the dirt path a short way up the mountain. I assume they are my brother’s friends.

    Soon I am out of sight of the parking lot and the cars. I am looking out over a reservoir chasm when I see a large bird, camouflaged with brown streaks, disappear behind a pine tree. The bird flies too fast for me to identify it, though soon another one, identical in coloring, flies across my path and lands on the granite. It seems to be a cross between a whippoorwill and a hawk.

    Just then I notice a snake to the left of the bird, then another snake, then look down: I am nearly stepping on a tangle of serpents. I jump back before I can determine whether the snakes are rattlers.

    The dream ends with me hitching a ride back with some of my friends - not my brother’s - who recently came down the mountain and found me napping behind their truck. It is dusk in the preserve when we leave.

  • had a dream i was telling someone about how quincy jones played bill nye’s computer and that in the movie bill and ted’s excellent adventure ted is over at bill nye’s house and tries to google “butt” on quincy jones but he doesn’t understand how it works, or something.

    I think this has something to do with a real conversation I had regarding the debates and the whole bayonet thing, with a napolean joke and a bill and ted joke… but there’s no way of knowing.

  • I got dive-bombed by parakeets last night. Or maybe lorakeets. It was really sunny so I couldn’t see exactly, but one of them ended up clamped onto my hand attacking me. Then a sparrowhawk appeared and hovered side-on to me a few feet away, as if to say, “Don’t fuck with my lorakeets, Ink”.

  • I woke up this morning from one of those very sad ‘lost love’ dreams, where I was constantly losing and finding very dear friends. At one point one of them (who was Peter Garrett!) said to me “stay in touch, OK?” and all I could do was wail “I can’t! I never know how to find you again!” I’ve been exhausted all day, and still haven’t remembered to email my bff (who also featured in this) about his upcoming visit.

  • Since I’ve been watching this walking dead show I’ve had zombie dreams every night. Last night I lined up all the weapons and asked some of the characters from the show to give me yelp reviews of each one so I would know what to use. Then we went into a mall resembling a stage from sonic racing that had anti zombie swing bars and a water slide.

  • Man, I wish I could hop into your dreams, peacocks. We’d make a great zombie killer team.

  • Downton Abbey nightmare:

    Edith was killed by a serial killer played by bill Cosby. The others were out of town. Edith stayed behind alone. She slept in a bed and he was there when she woke up, evil grin. There was a clear blow up doll next to her, she thought (he’s going to kill me) lept up and he stuck a huge pair of scissors in her gut as she was coming down the stairs after a chase.

    Lady grantham was found in pieces on the shore of the lake near their house below a big pile of dirt and garbage, next to a broken down rusty play set. There were large pigs that had been skinned, lying around. One of their skins was discarded. It looked like a whole pig, just empty. Lord grantham was killed too but I forget how.

  • That strikes me as rather unrealistic. Are you sure you’re not missing out an important detail, which is that Edith had just given birth to a healthy baby the same day? Do you remember what happened to the baby?

  • haha no, maybe my subconscious is hiding it from me. You think maybe Dr. Huxtable delivered the baby and this was a nightmare Edith was having when she was passed out from the pain of giving birth? A nightmare within a nightmare?

  • It is my belief that one day, we will all be able to contribute plot twists to peacocks’ dreams with enhanced sick psychic cores. I imagine it being sort of like what’s going on in the Pathfinder thread.

    Until then, peacocks, let your unconscious be our guide.

    [devil chicken]

  • [thumbs up]

  • I had a dream that Ben and I got jobs as prison guards. My first day, to start off, I was sent to guard the mail boxes (which were like open cubbies, not closed boxes). There was one box marked ‘mozzaburger’ which had a wrapped mozzaburger in it (this is type of burger they sell at A&W). Later in the day, I got hungry and ate the mozzaburger I was supposed to be guarding. I freaked out, because they were going to fire me, but then I noticed that across the way was a food court with an A&W so I bought a new mozzaburger to replace it. Then I was just worried that the person who owned the burger would come back while the new one was still warm.

  • so, i’m really starting to wonder about my subconscious. I came back here two days ago after spending a couple days at home. I had a dream that I was at some mexican border type town, and this woman was showing my dad and I around to the part below the border - which was nice looking, but the lady said things weren’t really that way. Then I remember we went further out to like this indian type reservation and there were these people also going out there, and this one guy who lives in the group home and is apache and is pretty troubled was maybe going there too I think.

    anyways the next day I find out he is gone. He went back home to the reservation for a day. And i don’t think I would have had any way of knowing that at all. Makes me wonder what else I am intuiting is true, and that worries me.

    also a mozzaburger sounds damn tasty. I wouldn’t mind having a dream like that. Its weird when food enters into your dreams. I’ve had many a detailed food dream

  • that is a crazy intense dream BB! reminds me of some ones I had in my mid-20s. not sure how old you are (I’m 41) but id encourage you to keep writing these down. If you’re like me, what’s mysterious for you about the dream stays mysterious. These days, when I read old dreams I wrote down, instead of shredding me with anxiety they’re helping me write poems.

  • The best thing about food dreams is when you dream up a new food combination, then try it in real life. Once a friend of mine in college did that; he was at the student snack bar, spooning spaghetti onto toast, and we were like, “what the heck are you doing?” and he said, “Oh, I dreamt I was eating a spaghetti sandwich last night, and it was really good. So now I’m making a spaghetti sandwich.”

  • Tinned spaghetti on toast was pretty much a staple food when I was at university.

  • Yeah, my brother and I did that growing up. He also enjoys our mom’s goulash (which is basically hamburger and elbow macaroni) scooped into a hot dog bun.

  • I dreamt the Facebook shit-talking thread turned into a big debate about what the internet was, with Marinus talking about whether it’s more than the sum of its parts, and the difference between a house and a home—like the internet’s a house in its electrons and wires but it’s a home because it’s social. I was like “I agree with everything you say Marinus”

  • That sounds disgusting. But generally I’m all for eating dream food. The other day I dreamed up celery rolled in pizza dough and mozzarella, and I’ve been meaning to try that.

    xpost—haha, I’m surprised that hasn’t happened already, Anne.

  • Biggins, did you just use the phrase “elbow macaroni” in a sentence? Has the cultural chasm between us been exposed once more? Is this “grits” all over again?

  • They, uh, well they don’t quite look like elbows

  • You know, it’s funny. I was surprised that I used the phrase elbow macaroni instead of just macaroni, but then I thought about it, and I realized the reason I said it that way is, I’ve never CONSIDERED making the stuff myself, but my Mom always uses a specific brand/box of noodles for this dish, which is clearly labeled “Cremette Elbow Macaroni.” So, go figure.


    I apologize

  • Inko, I think you would enjoy a classic American staple: macaroni and elbow grease.

  • Why anyone would even consider spaghetti on toast, let alone go through the actual ordeal, is seriously, seriously messing with my mind right now.

  • Same here. Though I will say that my mind is equally boggled by the concept of tinned spaghetti, even if they are not served on toast.

  • Yeah, that too. It’s not like regular spaghetti are expensive, difficult to make in any way, or not delicious, after all.

  • On the plus side, my puzzlement brought me to this amusing story, which is apparently a famous thing but I had never heard about it:


  • things on toast is a cornerstone of British (and Australian) cuisine. I don’t think I’ve ever had spaghetti, but beans or eggs on toast are solid. I actually had mushrooms on toast for lunch today.

  • I have no problem with things on toast in principle! I even had and enjoyed beans on toast on a fairly regular basis when I lived in Ireland. Just… tinned spaghetti?

  • Uh, spaghetti sandwiches are delicious what is everyone so shocked for? Butter the bread, slap it in, YUM TOWN.

  • i had two strange dreams recently…one where i could glide (not fly), and land safely after cruising around at ~10-100’ altitude for while. last night i had a dream that i was photographing a Bob Dylan performance (he’s notorious for not allowing any photo passes or cameras into gigs)…he sat down at the edge of the stage and was in near darkness, then turned to his right and some dim stage lighting gave a really nice profile shot.

  • peacocks said: Uh, spaghetti sandwiches are delicious what is everyone so shocked for? Butter the bread, slap it in, YUM TOWN.

    I like to think I am open-minded, but there is no way I can trust you on this one!

  • I’m going to argue about it! Do you ever use buttered or garlic bread to sop up the spaghetti sauce during or after the meal? That’s a good, traditional way to eat spaghetti. I don’t see how it is different than putting the spaghetti between two slices of bread and just eating it that way. Bread=good. spaghetti=good. spaghetti sandwich=good.

    a GIS of spaghetti sandwich shows I am not alone

  • dudes I dunno, I’d try it I guess but I don’t see what the pasta is adding to things at that point—take some good bread, put some red sauce in there, I’m with you, but then how about some meatballs or italian sausage or breaded steak or thin-sliced beef and some parmesan? Why add another carb? idgi

  • I’m not saying it’s a gourmet meal but when you’re on the go or feel like you would rather bite into your food than stab at it, here’s a solution.

  • I may have been scarred for life about noodles hiding inside things they shouldn’t by Korean sausage.