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6-bit nibble

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Remembered Dream Fluff	[Aug. 6th, 2012\|08:08 pm] 6-bit nibble
"If hope is not on the menu, try the fried fricasee." "Dip the broccoli into the halucinations." "Swiss cake."
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Nanocam	[Sep. 17th, 2011\|08:25 am] 6-bit nibble
S. C. Johnson Wax (My dreams are very specific) was selling an antibacterial cleaning sponge mounted with a nanocamera that could give you live footage of the germs on your countertop dying as you cleaned. I was at a co-worker's house when we saw the commercial, and he said, "Well, you know what's next: Protist Porn."
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Half-Asleep Words	[Jul. 24th, 2011\|10:13 am] 6-bit nibble
"And that's why he used to trade pilgrims as a scratching post."
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'Twas the Night Before Christmas...	[Dec. 25th, 2010\|09:51 am] 6-bit nibble
I woke up in the middle of the night, convinced that Hunter S. Thompson had directed a film whose name I couldn't remember. Curiously enough, I couldn't remember anything else about the movie either. But I was so certain of it (it was a great film, too!) that I got out of bed and searched IMDB. Frustrated, I went back to sleep and dreamt up some details about the film: There was a construction contractor, a tiny man from Chile, who was abusive to all his workers, one of whom was the main character, a teenage boy. The plot involved the mysterious disappearance of the boss, and for the denouement, the boy sneaks out of the house to drive his car off of an Interstate ramp. Where his car lands, he finds a piece of jewelry that the boss used to wear, somehow proving that the boss has been killed. Everyone rejoices and touts the boy's heroism, and there's a party right there by the crashed car to celebrate. I've become an apparent bystander to all this, and during the party, someone asks if they can move into my trailer, which is parked about 50 yards away. I pause and smile, saying "That's not my trailer," then I wink at the camera and the credits roll.
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The Swampwalk to New Brunswick	[Oct. 25th, 2010\|10:35 pm] 6-bit nibble
This is a dream from last Tuesday. We all lived in Connecticut. Me, my friends, the Saints -- New Orleans was in Connecticut instead of Louisiana. Apart from that, my dream geography was perfect. Except that the Everglades were also up there. Okay. My honorary niece Emma and I had been taking a walk in the swamp, and I saw that it was getting dark, Emma was falling asleep, and we had walked almost all the way to Canada, traversing some areas in Maine where we had had to swim. I knew we couldn't turn back, because now I was carrying Emma, and I knew I couldn't swim with her in my arms. I had a decision to make: Nova Scotia or New Brunswick? I chose the latter, because "It has more cities." As I waded my way into town with Emma now draped over my shoulders like a sheep (as seen in paintings of shepherds), I noticed a flaw in my plan. Everyone was at the Saints game, so no one could help us. I found a small motorboat, and thought, "If I can find the owner of this boat, I can borrow it to get back home." I decided eventually that this was an emergency that warranted unauthorized borrowing, and started to untie the boat. (It was tied to a post with spaghetti, which I was trying to untie without breaking.) Just then, some redneck types in cowboy hats drove past in some sort of cross between a dualie and a boat, nodding suspiciously at me. A moment later, some other neighbors walked by. I explained my situation and asked if they knew the owner of the boat. They said it would be all right as long as he didn't see me taking it. I hurried up and took the boat. As I drove with Emma asleep in the bottom of the boat, I realized that it was taking on water. I had to stop periodically, get out, and dump the water. In the dream, this was as simple as pouring out a bucket of water. But at some point I realized I'd thrown the baby out with the bathwater. Emma was missing. Luckily, as this dream was turning out to be a series of very easily-solved problems, I was able to simply get out of the boat and scoop her out of the water. When I got her home, she had become an infant (or maybe a puppy?), and I decided to give her a bath in the sink since she'd been in the swamp all day. Genny, Emma's mom, walked in while I was doing that, and thanked me for everything. I said, "Oh good, you're back. I need to catch the bus." My roommate Drew and I were downtown, waiting for the Franklin bus to take us home. It was midnight, and the bus didn't come until 1am. While we were waiting, we found ourselves in the midst of the Saints game, which was taking place on the streets instead of on a football field. An emaciated teenage boy, dehydrated and exhausted, clad only in his underwear, ran around a corner and collapsed, holding the football. He dragged himself along, only a few more feet to go before reaching the goal line. His teammates gathered at the corner and watched; they weren't allowed to help. I don't think I saw how it turned out. A bus came, and we asked whether it was the Franklin bus. The driver -- who was the crazy lunch lady from high school -- said no, but that we should get in so she could show us something. I got in, and Drew stayed behind. She revved the engine, sped down the street and started "bus drifting," doing 360-degree spins, etc, eventually crashing into a crowd of spectators. No one was hurt.
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Evolution	[Aug. 28th, 2010\|11:53 am] 6-bit nibble
I experienced this dream simultaneously in first person and as if I were watching a documentary. There were legends of carnivorous, shape-shifting tamarins that could emulate human speech in order to hunt humans for food. [Clips: A dramatization of a monkey jumping out of a tree and attacking an unsuspecting passerby. Another dramatization of an almost-human-looking monkey, repeating gibberish that sounded like human speech, then baring a vicious set of razor-sharp teeth.] Some people near a tropical resort had been going missing, and the people in a neighboring village began to suspect the tamarin that the resort had recently captured to keep as a pet. These suspicions were dismissed as superstition, because the tamarin was in a locked cage, and too small to have made whole people go missing without a trace. [Short clips of a person sticking his fingers in a cage, then getting violently pulled in by the off-screen monkey, presumably to be devoured.] At some point, a nameless, faceless friend and I were standing by the monkey's cage, talking to and about him. He started talking back. It wasn't the gibberish from the dramatization, though. It was regular human speech. Then it occurred to me that it only sounded believable to us, because the disguise was working. The monkey had even started to look human. I told my friend to stop paying attention to the monkey, because that was how it worked. If we convinced ourselves the monkey wasn't even there, he wouldn't have any power over us. I temporarily convinced myself the monkey wasn't there, until I noticed that my friend had failed at this self-deception, and the monkey was slowly melting through the bars of the cage, in the style of Terminator 2. Then I realized that that was only the perception the monkey had forced upon me. The true means of his escape had been my friend unlocking the cage. I somehow maintained an indifferent attitude to all this, never fearing for my friend's safety or my own. In the end, it turned out that these creatures were not carnivorous, strictly speaking. They were "socially cannibalistic herbivores with regenerative qualities." The way they bonded socially was to feed each other parts of their own bodies, which would then grow back. [Clip: Poor-quality actual footage of one monkey feeding another a "hand sandwich" -- his own hand, still attached, between two tiny slices of bread.] The rest of their diet consisted of plant matter. It was only in solitary captivity, deprived of this social interaction, that an individual would go mad and begin eating human flesh by force. We theorized that the monkeys released pheromones that compelled one another to offer themselves for cannibalism, and that those pheromones were what had caused us to see human-like qualities in the monkey and facilitate his escape from his cage.
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Tigers	[Mar. 5th, 2010\|11:20 pm] 6-bit nibble
My boss had somehow acquired two tigers, who were being held in the backs of two large pickup trucks, and he put me in charge of looking after one of them. The truck had spatial impossibilities that seemed perfectly normal. When I was focusing on the truck, it resembled a tow truck, with most of the bed area occupied by the towing apparatus. But while I was focusing on the tiger, the truck was basically a U-Haul: a big empty box. However, I understood that the design of the towing apparatus was essential for keeping the tiger contained. I sympathized with the tiger's captivity, but I knew I couldn't release him myself without upsetting my boss. So I devised a plan. I taunted him, and he lunged at me, but his chain held him. As he recoiled, I reached out and scritched his nose, "to build his trust," I said to myself. After a few times of this, he managed to break free, and started rubbing his face on me the way house cats do. There were cheers from an audience I hadn't been aware of until then. We saw my boss returning, so I suggested we try and set the other tiger free too, but mine indicated to me somehow ('cause tigers can't talk) that no, the other one preferred to be kept. We decided to keep up the charade so that my tiger could get a clean getaway: I held onto his collar as my boss approached, explained that he'd gotten loose and that I couldn't hold him much longer. He replied groggily: "Oh... yeah, ok, don't kill yourself."
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Furniture	[Sep. 1st, 2009\|12:40 am] 6-bit nibble
I dreamt of a frail, middle-aged Englishman, standing in his study, facing in my direction, poised as if introducing a movie or television show. "You are referring to my wife, are you not? Certainly you're not referring to my furniture. Ah, yes, how silly of me. You ARE my furniture." He was not addressing an audience, but the table in his study.
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Half-asleep word soup	[Jan. 24th, 2009\|02:50 am] 6-bit nibble
"If Q is really twisterbrain, chuck it."
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(no subject)	[Dec. 31st, 2008\|02:16 pm] 6-bit nibble
I came home to find that my next-door neighbors had built a driveway through part of my lawn. I wavered on whether to be upset by this. On one hand, they had built it too close to my hedge, not giving it any room to grow. On the other, the part of the driveway that lay on my property was mine to park in. Then again, the fact that it kept changing in size didn't help matters. While I was examining it up-close, some friends arrived, and we decided to hang out on the neighbors' front porch. An emaciated woman showed up, who could curl herself into a ball to fit inside an over-the-shoulder sling carrier. It was my responsibility to carry her around in it. Other than that, she didn't require any special care. Later, I was walking down the center lane of Carrollton avenue, towards I-10. I was glad I hadn't driven, because there was a blockage ahead -- cones, caution tape -- that was only maneuverable by pedestrians. I had intended to go under the overpass, but I was't sure it was safe, so my friends who were with me decided to take the ramp to the Interstate, while I investigated. When I shouted up to them that our original route was safe and that they should come back down, their identities had changed. Among the new group of people was the sister of a friend, whom I've only had minimal interactions with. My shouting had frightened her, but when she realized who I was and calmed down, she came down and gave me a big hug, then chastised me for having "made her freak out."
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