I got called for dreamworld jury duty. It was a demonic possession case, so you’d think they’d have been more cautious. The accused naturally attempted to possess the judge and jury, and it was up to a few of us to try and thwart his efforts.
Strangely enough, I’ve never managed to get called for jury duty in real life. It’s probably a lot less interesting there anyway.
Question from Dan
What’s the last dream you remember having?
Well, I dream practically every night, and I remember most dreams for at least a few hours, but most of them are pretty mundane. Last night’s was mostly concerned with a party my parents were having and trying to make some decent coffee for two of the guests, sara, and myself. I assume you’d like to hear about something more interesting.
The last amusing dream I had started with a UFO crash in Florida, which had happened some time in the past. I was part of a loosely associated gang of hackers and political ranters with an interest in such things, and we eventually discovered that an alien in human form had survived the crash and made his way north.
After much convoluted plot and some espionage action, we discovered that the alien had reported back to his planet, and a full-scale invasion had been planned. However, rather than take on the might of the USA directly, the aliens had opted to infiltrate and take over the record companies and the Recording Industry Association of America.
Their plan was sinister and brilliant: they would persuade the US government that the 70%+ of citizens swapping files on the Internet were dangerous copyright terrorists, and get them all locked up in jails—at tremendous profit to the private security firms running the jails, which they also controlled.
Once that was done, the full-scale invasion would proceed—because the landing ships would easily slip by the nation’s missile defenses, and by then there wouldn’t be enough citizens free to defend the nation on the ground.
On discovering this plot, we did our best to bring it to the world’s attention by engineering media events. Eventually we managed to goad the RIAA into taking off the mask and bringing in the dropships early to colonize the Earth with their evil alien spawn.
In my dreams last night, Brian Eno and John Cage performed a new musical work they had collaborated on. John Cage had “treated” a concert grand piano by pouring custard into it. Then, Cage played the piano while Eno poured gravy over it.
Last night I dreamed that sara and I fled the country… and went to live in France.
In the dream, sara really took to France, and learnt French in no time. She was soon getting involved in local politics, even getting invited to meet the mayor. Meanwhile I sat at home and cried, because I realized that even though I could get by in French, I didn’t want to. In fact, I realized France wasn’t where I wanted to be at all.
Then I woke up.
I jumped back in time on a Quantum Leap style mission to retrieve some information, and I was back in Cambridge in the 1970s. I suddenly realized I had a chance to save Douglas Adams—all I had to do was find him at John’s, and convince him not to exercise so hard.
The problem was, it turned out that college Porters were actually Timelord agents, and they were onto me. They were determined to prevent me from interfering with Douglas Adams’ time stream, perhaps because it would result in Shada being completed and secret details about them being revealed to the world.
Last night I spent what seemed like almost the whole night dreaming about sea otters. Swimming with them, feeding them, petting them, helping them clamber onto the dock, examining their paws, talking to them…
I dreamed that we were at dinner at someone’s house, and part way through the meal someone stood up and said “Hey, you know who that is at the head of the table? It’s… Dick Power!”
Everyone was excited, but the guy was really embarrassed that they were making such a big deal about the fact that he was… Dick Power!
I dream of shoes…
Actually, it was about shopping, which is even sadder. Except I couldn’t go shopping because I didn’t have a reasonable pair of shoes.
I think it’s subconscious anxiety about the fact that my new Birkenstocks haven’t arrived. I bought them in San Francisco, which has an excellent Birkenstock store—go figure. A pair of sandals to replace the current pair which are wearing out, and a pair of something that looks like black canvas trainers, except they’re not, hopefully to replace the beaten-up Reebok Classics.
Did a bunch of chores yesterday. Tidied my desk, copied all sara’s old Zip disks onto a CD for her, installed Norton on her G4, shredded some old receipts, put the Lynx up for sale on eBay, moved the 8500 into the front room in preparation for selling it, and rewired the speakers in the computer room so I could have my SoundWorks system back.
I’ve had backache since SF. I was unlucky with the hotel bed; the last two I’ve experienced have been fine, but this one wasn’t good enough. I’m almost recovered now, but it’s been an unpleasant week. The problem seems to be that after sleeping on futons for over a decade, my back muscles go nuts if presented with a conventional mattress of anything less than stellar quality. I think I’m going to have to get a Japanese bedroll that I can take with me on future vacations. Anyone have any advice?
It’s strange how things get filtered though my discomfort. I was watching celebrities being interviewed, and suddenly I started to wonder if any of them had special mattress requirements. I suppose I’m starting to understand why some famous people have standard lists of special requirements for their trailers and dressing rooms. It’s just a matter of wanting to be able to get up and feel like a happy, healthy human being so you can sieze the day. Maybe I should start to write my list:
There will be a futon mattress in the bedroom.
The bed will have a duvet, not sheets and blankets.
Pillows will be foam, not feather.
There will be cafe latte available at around 09:00, and nobody is to attempt to engage me in unnecessary conversation before I’ve finished drinking it.
Last night’s dream fragments, in no particular order:
Pilot episode for a satirical sitcom: Republicans decide to create the ultimate Presidential candidate by creating a clone using DNA from all their previous successful candidates. He is to be the ultimate politician-by-marketing. They succeed in creating the ultimate Republican: he has the wit of Reagan, the rhetoric and oratory of Bush (either one), the dignity and honesty of Nixon, the gregariousness of Calvin Coolidge, the economic wisdom of Herbert Hoover, the subtlety of Theodor Roosevelt, and so on. Unfortunately, fragments of the old presidents’ personalities keep surfacing to settle old scores… We follow him on the campaign trail as desperate minders attempt to keep him on-message.
One of sara’s pagan friends tries to convince me that there’s something to this whole astrology lark. I listen politely only because I’m fascinated by the beautiful glowing will-o-wisp creature that has been circling them, but which is apparently so normal that it doesn’t invite comment from them.
Two hilarious ranting left wing pundits somehow get a late night slot on a radio station in New York, and unexpectedly become an overnight sensation.
I finally moved out of my parents’ house… in my dreams.
Although in reality it’s been over a decade, things seem to move slowly in the dream world. In real life my parents have moved twice since the house they still occupy in my dreams. Maybe it’s because I liked that house a lot.
Finally, though, the conflicts and the shouting matches became too much. They made for unsatisfying dreams. I decided I needed to find a place of my own.
As explained in part 1, there are definite rules concerning how mutable the dream world is. I couldn’t just make something up. I began exploring the more populated parts of the dream world, looking for something suitable. On the outskirts of a village on the edge of a town, I finally found what I was looking for.
The place was magnificent. Glass everywhere. Circling walkways led up to a glass dome, a kind of solarium, observation dome and greenhouse. Below were large, spacious living areas with wall-size windows. The only problem was, it was all in disrepair—vandals had broken windows, there were spider webs, the metal was rusted, and so on.
The first problem was to get everything fixed. That was relatively easy. Individual panes of glass, struts of metal, were small enough to be mutable just by focusing attention on them in the right way, and fixing a crack or removing rust was a small enough change to be allowed.
Next, I had to work out how I was going to get to the place and back. It was a bit isolated. No doubt other stuff would grow up around it, but for the time being I was going to be facing some boring transit dreams. There was a road, but I rarely drive in dreams, unless it’s a spy chase or some other genre that demands it. I originally reached the place by bike, but that wasn’t going to be any fun if the weather was bad. Finally, I managed to imagine/find something better: just through a hedge and across a small park was a bus stop, with a frequent bus into town.
The next problem was packing up all my stuff at my dream-parents’ house. That took two or three rather dull dreams, but finally I loaded the last box into a truck, sat on the back loading ramp, and waved my parents goodbye.
So now I’m in the new place. I was there last night. I still visit my parents, and they’ve visited me. Like in reality, distance has improved out relationship immeasurably.
