fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Default)
The following is the text of a dream which I transcribed onto Facebook in several posts. Facebook had some sort of a 600 character limit back in the day.

Had a dream this morning. I dreamed that the Thames had suddenly been drained, and that there was this weird temple entrance lying half buried in the floor of the river bed. Some archaeologists had opened the entrance, and I was one of the first in.
The temple had been sealed long before the river had come over it, so its interior was dry, all grey stone. Some steps hed down, into this abstract chamber of all grey stone. Very odd shapes, stairwells in all directions and on all sides, each one going off in uneven directions, all of them leading nowhere.
I saw what looked like a long corridor leading away from the central chamber. I realised that I was looking at a realistic painting: a picture painted into the wall. But when I touched it, it turned out to be real. So I ventured into the corridor, which seemed to go on in a straight line forever.
Halfway down, there were two corridors on either side, making it a crossroads in the corridor: but when I looked again and touched them, they were just paintings. Likewise, the corner at the end of the corridor which led to the right turned out to be a dead end; it only went a few feet around the corner and ended at a grey stone wall just out of line of sight.
For some reason, getting out of this corridor was harder than going in. For one thing, I was now racing against the clock, because the picture was starting to go solid. For another thing, I had to come out of it backwards. If I'd turned to look, the picture would have gone solid and frozen me inside it forever.
When I emerged, I almost fell backwards; it was a sensation very much like having a blocked ear that suddenly clears. I looked, and the corridor was just a painting again, a solid part of the wall, a trompe l'oeil effect. I don't know if I'd failed or not. I didn't care. I'd explored the inside of a painting that had not been seen by Man.
Finally, I was climbing down this spiral staircase which showed promise; it was supposed to open up into a larger chamber below this one. But then I felt drops falling on me from above. It was water. The river was starting to come back. And so we all had to make our way back up onto the surface before we got flooded. Last thing was me emerging into the light, and the water was already ankle deep and rising.
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Shadow person)
The other day, I posted a picture to Facebook which reminded me of this dream I'd posted here on LJ, called "Brent." I decided to go and hunt this old article down, which necessitated a trawl through my old LJ posts from the very beginning, and a long overdue weeding of much of the old quizzage and clearing up of dead links.

I've tagged a ton of articles, too, and added them to the Memories section so I can hunt them down again in the future, should I need to.

So far, I've reached 2005 05 29. No Brent as yet. But when I find it, I'll repost it immediately to Perchance To Dream.
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Default)
I was at a convention of some sort. There was this beautiful, brunette, mature woman leading a team of actual, honest to God diplomats - they were staying at the hotel. She had a problem with her computer and printer, but I actually corrected the problem in double quick time, my fingers simply flying over the keyboard to do so, and she received her printouts in time to accomplish her goal in whatever the mission was.

I'm already under the Official Secrets Act from 1992, and these guys already knew this, so they know I can keep a secret.

Afterwards, I was chatting with this brunette lady. She turned to me, thanking me, and asking me what she could give me as a gift of gratitude.

I said "Brunch tomorrow." Her face crashed. I could see that I'd somehow asked for too much, so I smiled and said the following to her:-

"I release you from all obligation to me, and from all perception of obligation." My way of saying "De nada, senora."

In the next part of the dream, it was 23:30, and I was preparing for bed in the hotel room wherein I was staying. There was a knock on the door. It was her.

"I can't do brunch tomorrow, because I have an appointment," she said. "However, I can do breakfast."

At that point, I woke up.
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Default)
I had a dream this morning. I can't explain it any further. Just ... read on.

Behind the cut )

I don't know what it means, but you know ... I hope it isn't a recurring dream.

Dream

Jul. 7th, 2008 08:37 am
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Default)
I had a rather vivid dream of some woman waiting at a bus stop, with a suitcase at her side containing a lifeless Homer Simpson crammed into it.

Also, a few minutes later, I had a dream of some computerised strategic wargame I was playing. Units from two sides were shelling a marching band on the battlefield. The marching band could only move forwards in formation, so they were easy pickings for partisan snipers leaping over rugged terrain. In the end, three bulldozers were used to raise earthen barriers to keep the marching band boxed in to a small square of land on the border of the battlefield while people took potshots at them at leisure.
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Default)
... I had in my dreams last night.

"... and police and emergency services have maintained a tight cordon and press blackout around the downtown area in the wake of the horrendous incident. YouTube footage of the event caught by amateur videographers has also been suspended for the duration of the emergency, and the footage sent to the authorities for analysis.

"Reports coming out of the sealed-off area are sketchy and unreliable, but consistent descriptions of the incident all point to the huge amounts of blood spatter resulting from the heavy impacts. The phrase "tidal wave of blood" has been heard by at least one source.

"Property damage is horrendous. Several hundred cars and other unprotected vehicles in the vicinity have been damaged or destroyed by the blunt force of the impacts, and one casual remark made by a firefighter called in to the scene suggests that the cleanup may take weeks, at a cost in millions of pounds of damages, not to mention the untold cost in lives lost and traumas sustained by witnesses to the incident.

"Just to recap tonight's main headline. A major disaster has hit downtown. Tonight, for the first time, at just about half past ten, for the first time in history, it started raining men ..."
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Shadow person)
Another dream post, peeps.

I dreamed of being in a large, old, echoing room. Again, there was some sort of a convention going on - I've no idea if it was the same convention from the previous dream whose GoH were Peter Jurasik and Stephen Furst, but there you are.

The hall was a long room, dimly lit, echoing, high ceiling, split into two levels, the upper level being an L shaped extension reaching along the left hand side to the far wall, then right. The upper level also had an extension to the left, but I didn't go down there. Access was on a square platform elevator with no railings that rose up from the empty lower floor.

The convention was taking place in the brightly lit rooms on the left: there were windows in the wall looking in, and a connecting door, but very few people in this room. At one point, I was alone. All around the upper level of this large, dimly lit, echoing hall were stacks of antique books, leather bound and exquisite looking.

I was just enjoying looking at these books, when a voice nearby started talking about old someone having discovered some old 1930s books, and putting them up for sale. These were originals, thought to be lost. I realised that the voice belonged to a man on the far end of the raised level, and that he was talking to two men back on the platform - both of whom expressed clear enthusiasm for the discovery of such rare items.

Then one of the men turned to me and said "I know where there's a book on sale here. It's expensive, but it's right up your street." He led me down the platform elevator, out the door at the bottom of the hall, and across the outside corridor, where the rest of the convention was clearly in full swing.

He cut across the wood panelled corridor, opened a door, and we proceeded down some narrow stairs to where there was another pile of books, this time in the narrow space between two flights of stairs. The books were arranged on a pile on a small table, beneath a window through whichI could see sunlight. Beside this stall sat an old lady with grey hair in a bun, a heavy dress and a knitted shawl, who had to go to the toilet for a moment.

While she was away, I looked at the book the man was offering to me. It was a grimoire, filled with signs and magical seals, instructions for spells such as "To make a man or woman come to you" and "To make someone shed their clothes on command." The book was a reprint of a genuine grimoire; the spells were indeed powerful and real, and I knew that I could make them work; I could even read the words in my dream.

And then I saw the price, which was very specific and legible: exactly £81.25. The lady came back. I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the book was genuine, and that this woman was making the knowledge available to be for that specific price. I figured that I could manage it, but it'd be a tight squeeze on my budget, but what the hell, why not?

Then the woman explained that these books were flying off the shelves, despite the price. Which was good, because she needed the proceeds from the sale of these books to pay for her cancer treatment.

At that point, I noticed that a queue had formed behind me, all eager to buy the book even if I was reluctant to break my bank account to do so. I couldn't do any more at that point, because I woke up. I think I'd have continued that dream by actually going downstairs, out the door and heading for the bank for the money in my dream. The book was worth far more than £81.25 - in fact, for genuine spells, it was worth hundreds - but the amount was, in my dream, about the limit of what I had available.

I was, after all, already at a convention ...
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Shadow person)
I had a dream this morning, and the highlight of it is something I'd like to share with you.

These kids, just tots really, had baked a lovely cake for someone. With all solemnity the dream showed them wheeling in the cake on a trolley. There were two kids, a young lad and a girl, pushing the trolley into the room.

The cake was covered with a layer of icing, and on it they'd thrown together some letters in coloured marzipan.

For some reason, the word those letters spelled out was "orgasm" ...

I woke up creasing myself with laughter. I'm still chuckling now, as i write this.

Kilt Dream

Aug. 1st, 2007 12:59 pm
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Default)
I had this dream the night before last, and so far the only one I have told was [livejournal.com profile] naaila and then, only sketchily.

Here's the fuller description.

There was a large office building, like one of Liverpool's Three Graces, as seen below:-



Anyway, I had to go into this building and meet someone on the first floor. Only, there was a problem. Guests were only allowed in on the ground floor, but the upper storeys were for members only, and there was a Steward to look out for whose job it was to eject undesirables.

So I went in, along with a crowd of people - and this was a pretty crowded dream, one of the most crowded I have ever been in - and the building looked even more magnificent inside than it did on the outside. All columns and polished brass and marble floor. Magnificent.

Anyway, there I was, forging a business card in my hand (don't ask me how I hoped the handmade forgery would pass inspection, I just did it) and then I came across the lobby. In the lobby, there was this fireplace off to the right, and a crowd of young people sitting around listening to this young man, who was regaling them all from his vantage point to the left of the fireplace on which he was leaning. Tall, he was, toned, fit, shock of blonde hair, kilt. Looked vaguely like Jason Connery did back when he was in Robin of Sherwood, when he replaced Michael Praed.

Anyhow, there was I, and the young lad called me over. We had a chat, and he explained the ground rules, that you had to be let in by a Steward, and that you had to either be a member or have a member in good standing vouch for you. So I wandered away towards the stairs, and someone said "Oi! You'd better get permission from the Steward!" and I asked the man "Are you he, then?" to which he replied "No, it's that young man with the kilt back there."

Anyway, along comes the Steward, and I hand him the forged business card, saying that a member in good standing was, in fact, vouching for me. The Steward reluctantly let me go, so I went upstairs to the first floor, where I was supposed to be meeting this person who was here.

Why this person couldn't vouch for me, I have no idea. Maybe they weren't expecting me to be so brazen as to meet me in their private sanctum sanctorum. Doesn't matter anywa, because I didn't stay here long enough to make myself acquainted with anybody.

The restaurant was a plush five star affair, all men in black tie, women in gorgeous clothes, everyone looking like they spend money like I expel urine: daily, in large quantities and without a thought about it because there's always more where that came from.

No sign of the person I was going to meet, so I began to wander along some of the outlying corridors. I was alone when the Steward finally arrived, looking like thunder. Whoops. Busted.

So he politely, yet very firmly, told me that I was to accompany him as he escorted me out of the building. He took me by the arm and began to lead me out through the restaurant.

And then one of the waiters, somehow in the act of transporting a vast tureen full of peas through the restaurant, accidentally overturns his trolley, upending the tureen and spilling a tidal wave of small, bulletlike green garden peas all over the floor.

Cue the Steward, and a load of people, all slipping and tumbling about on the peas. Then inexplicably I found myself going down the spiral stairs and out. I woke up at that point, wondering what in the name of all that's Rimblesque that was all about.

And no, I didn't venture a peek up the Steward's kilt to see if he was wearing any kecks. I didn't want to know, and besides, it was my dream. :)
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Shadow person)
Edit:I worked out after the fact that on this day, April 20 2007, I have been alive for exactly 16,000 days.

Sixteen thousand days. Damn. We only get allotted around 35,000 in our lives.

Now, the content of this post. I posted this already onto [livejournal.com profile] fiat_knox_com and [livejournal.com profile] dreamarchetypes, but there have been some who are not members of either community, who wanted to see the account of this unusually vivid dream I had recently.

So here it is.


The dream began not long after my rescue by a benefactor, a very rich man, who pulled me out of a dire predicament which I can't remember - it was early in the dream, and the details are fuzzy, but for some reason I had no clothes, my rings and talisman were missing and I was only wearing what looked like a set of standard issue white socks, underpants and a vest.

The man was immaculately dressed in a dark suit that looked like it cost him more than I get from benefits in a year. He sat in the back of a helicopter with me as we flew over this city, which looked like it went on forever.

"This is a Mega City," I said. "And you and your people are Megacitizens."

There were huge buildings looming over the rest of the buildings, including one incredibly thin, flat one. I told him "You built that one along a north - south alignment." He looked shocked, and I told him that since it was exactly noon, the light of the sun cast its thinnest shadow across the city from the building at that moment.

I then said "You've been to Australia." And again, he didn't know why I'd say that; even less when I said "It's marvellous, isn't it, the beauty of those structures; none of them built by human hand, yet erected with such precision."

Then he asked me how I knew about the structures in Australia - that I was talking about Compass or Magnetic Termites, insects that build these mounds twenty feet tall, like blades or fins, all aligned with magnetic north, or maybe like tombstones. My reply, as always with such things: "The image of what you have seen is still in your mind."

I even freak people out in my dreams.

So, anyway, we got into his limo; and we drove to the structure he'd built, like a giant glass fin, water cascading down the sides and all glass inside. Once inside the atrium of this immense structure, I got down on my hands and knees on the bare earth and began to erect the figures of Western Geomancy, casting the lots with the metal dice from my kit which he'd retrieved when he'd rescued me. I drew him a full geomantic shield, and showed him how his success was sadly going to be bought with blood; also, that "blood" could also mean "kin", and that either way, the sign meant "thicker than water," meaning that this was a tide which was going to be very hard to resist.

I showed him a figure called the Reconciler, though, which read "The Major Fortune," which was an ultimate good sign, a beneficial final judgement. He'd sited this huge structure in the right place, and in the right alignment. But I urged caution, rather than haste, because his ambition would cost someone dear if this project was rushed, or costs were skimped or similar rash behaviour indulged in "to prove a point".

I drew an I Ching hexagram in the ground, something like "Ultimate Harmony", to signal that all would be well, and to quiet the earth which actually started trembling like a lover in orgasm.

A panel fell from the roof, at this point. It was a big square, and it landed point first right on the spot where I'd drawn the hexagram. Sunlight came in and illuminated the square, "like a diamond in the dirt, illumination surrounded by darkness." I told the architect these exact words; he got a call in from a contact, saying that his contract for a geodesic dome in some other part of the world had gone through, and he had a green light on it. He turned to me, and as he did so, his contact said the exact same words over the mobile phone to the architect.

Finally, as we arrived at the hotel where I'd been put up (one of his buildings - a vast edifice, with one huge plaza in front that'd take ten, fifteen minutes to cross at least), the architect shook my hand, and gave me a funny handshake. I told him that, to his surprise, I did not wear the apron - but that I'd honour those who did for their sense of solidarity and brotherhood.

Then I told him it'd be raining before I got to the entrance of the hotel, so he shouldn't stay outside the limo for too long or he'd get drenched.

I got out, finally retrieving the rest of my stuff - my rings, my talisman, my clothes - and, as I donned my (always slightly shabby) duty black shoes, trousers and sweater, the architect asked me: 'How can someone like you live so small?'

I turned to him and said the following.

'Consider the size of one of your largest buildings. The one you built like a glass needle in Tokyo, soaring so high into the sky nobody can see where it ends. Now see it in comparison to the magnetosphere of the Earth in all its glory.

'Now compare that to the magnetosphere of Jupiter - easily the largest phenomenon in the solar system, bigger even than the Sun. Now extend your perceptions outwards until you can see the whole of the solar system, right up to the Kuiper Belt and the Heliopause.

'Further, now; out past the local neighbourhood, to see the galaxy as a whole. Now further and further, until the galaxy itself is just a bright point, a mote of dust, in the local galactic supercluster, which itself becomes a tiny filament, a streak of light, a tiny thread, and gone, amidst the huge clouds of galaxies in our universe. Further still, until you run out of galaxies; and all you have is the universe itself, which shrinks all around you until all you can see of it is just a tiny, tiny black dot, surrounded by a blue - grey chaos.

'And now look at it again. You have been looking at the iris and pupil of my eye. We are back to where you started on this journey. I may look small, live smaller; but my eyes, my soul, encompass universes.'


New Dreams

Apr. 18th, 2006 11:37 am
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Default)
Rowan Atkinson and the Bucket of Water

Rowan Atkinson and I had the task of carrying a bucket of water from a building called Roxburgh House, in my home town, to a local museum which is about a hundred yards up the road.
Rowan insisted that he carry the bucket: but I was equally adamant that I be the carrier. So Rowan asks me why. I tell him:
"Rowan, you are a comic actor, a genius, a legend of comedy. And this," pointing to the bucket, "is a bucket of water. It's probably bad enough you going through town with people saying things like 'Oi, Mr Bean! Do something funny!' without you drawing their attention to you for carrying a bucket of water around while you're at it ..."
So, having seen the point, he then relents. So I stare at the bucket and I say "Well, the thought occurred to me that there's probably going to be water in the museum, too ..." and I tip it down the sink. Then I turn to Rowan and say "Of course, this makes thing so much easier, and for two reasons.
"Firstly, nobody will notice me walking through town carrying a bucket, especially if you're walking just ahead of me. If it was a bucket of water, people will stop and stare, at the very least. But just an empty bucket?
"And second, now we've got rid of the water, and all we've got is a bucket, this means we can actually hail a taxi to get us there ..."

Lie To Me

This dream saw me sitting in an interrogation room, wired up to a polygraph machine. Two men are present.
They need to calibrate the machine. One of the men asks me "Lie to me". So I tell them the following:
"The three girls who comprise the pop group Sugababes are, in fact, German prostitutes whom the record company reps recruited from the streets of Bonn."
The man then says "No, you idiot, I told you to lie to me!"
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Default)
Mum had a really weird dream last night. She dreamed that she was a Romani gypsy, shopping at Asda (the British Wal-Mart).

Anyways, she witnessed some lads running around, about the same age as my nephew. Some coppers come along and give these lads hassle, knocking one of them to the ground and kicking one of them in the ear. So this woman comes out of the store and looks at the lad who's been kicked, and she says "There's nothing wrong," so Mum says "It's not his face. Look at his ear," and, sure enough, it's bleeding.

So Mum tells the woman that she witnessed the policeman doing this to the lad - and as a result, she is taken away and has to live in a trailer for her own safety.

She's then listening to her Welsh language radio programme, when she hears a knock at the door. She opens it, and there's this choir. The choir leader then comes up to her and asks her in a whisper, in Welsh, "Are you being held here against your will?"

It's the Proffwyd blood in her. Like me, it leads her down some weird dream paths sometimes ... :D
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Shadow person)
I had myself a weird, kinky dream early this morning, after a prolonged period of insomnia kept me awake from around 1 am till about 5.

In my dream, Jenny Agutter and I were working on a new British movie of some sort. It was going to be a period drama. All bustles and manners, and the men in frockcoats and top hats and stuff.

Trouble is, all the roads in the UK are modern - modern two lane tarmac, white lines in the middle. We needed an old single lane country dirt track so we could race horse and buggies and carriages along them.

So there we were, looking ... and we found one, leading across this open space, on the border of the Moors. There were trees all around, and in the distance all the trees petered out and there was nothing but moors.

Up ahead, though, there were some trees and undergrowth on either side of the road, blocking the view immediately past them. As I came up, I noticed that part of the ground ahead seemed to be pixellated, as if it had been blurred out in post.

I though "This is weird," and bent down to look at what was there. It turned out to be some discarded sheets of blue Bond paper, handwritten - they looked like pretty intimate letters.

And then, just past the brush, I heard noises, conversation, cameras and stuff.

I went up to the brush, and noticed discarded photos and what looked like full page photos torn from a glossy magazine. Pictures of women, dressed very provocatively in basques and stiletto heeled shoes.

Things started to get interesting as I went around the brush. Because that's where I came across the people. Half of them were sitting on folding chairs, shooting sticks, what have you, on a tarpaulin. They were all dressed in the manner of country gentlemen, in tweeds or green sleeveless jackets. One or two were wearing riding jodhpurs, and they were all wearing boots and flat caps. I only saw them from the back, but they looked as if they were filming what was ahead of them, either on video cameras or snapping away with digicams.

And the other half ...

Up ahead of them, there were what looked like six or seven couples, men and women, engaged in what I could only describe as a "wheelbarrow race."

The women were elegant, slender, wearing those provocative black silk Basques. Most were brunettes, and one or two wore stiletto heeled shoes ... although their position meant that those shoes were nowhere near the ground ...

The men pushing the "wheelbarrows" around were tall country gents. Dark hair, slicked back; grey waistcoats, shirts, cravats, handlebar moustaches. But between the shirts and their riding boots ... nothing but hairy legs and bums.

It looked as though the gents and the women did this sort of thing on a regular basis, for entertainment, way out in the open. I had the distinct impression that if the police were to arrive, they'd be all "Afternoon, Judge." "Oh, hello, John. How's the kids?" "Doing fine, Yer Honour." "Good, now do go and arrest someone, there's a nice chap." "Have a good day, Yer Honour."

And that's all there was to my dream, because at that point, I awoke again, it was day and I was laughing too hard to get back into bed again.

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