Victim And Defender
November 30, 2001
I was some sort of detective, a Taoist, following leads to track down the killer of these five men. All five, men and women, had been violently stabbed by person or persons unknown.
In my dream, I ordered protection for the killer's next victim, called Victim - a woman who looked a bit like the actress from the movie adaptation of Delta of Venus.
The complication to this plot was, simply, that Victim and Defender were the same person, separated by a wafer-thin mental barrier called MPD. Only, by now, Defender was actively campaigning to kill Victim - Defender having turned suicidal after offing all of her intended victims, and therefore having no further reason to exist.
It turned out that the MPD was brought about by severe trauma caused by her repeated rape by the men she'd gone and killed, and the women who'd perverted the course of justice to protect their menfolk, thus perpetuating the acceptability of rape in society.
Her violent Defender personality had been a response to extreme trauma; a "shield" persona to protect her Victim personality's innocence, or what Defender thought was her innocence. In truth, Victim was a naïf, no longer capable of independent thought; Defender had assumed the dominant role in the girl's twisted psyche.
As a Taoist, I could see how the actions of some had brought about a series of natural responses resulting in their deeds coming back to them. Sadly, in my dream, I could see no winners among the players in this harsh drama.
The Vorlon Homeworld
September 28, 2001
Just a small fragment of a dream, this one. I dreamt I was walking along a road which wound down a hill. There were well - appointed homes and gardens on either side, the sun was shining and the road was deserted.
I turned, and spotted what could only be described as a "rip" in space, through which I could see space, littered with stars. And in that window into the deep void, I saw what I thought was the homeworld of the fictional alien race, the Vorlons, created by J Michael Straczynski for his late 20th Century TV series, Babylon 5.
The story behind the Vorlons is that they were one of the oldest races in the galaxy, having surpassed the modern human level of evolutionary development millions, if not billions, of years ago. Virtually immortal, the Vorlons travelled between the stars in these huge, graceful spaceships of an unusually organic design, with green or red mottled skin and vanes which opened out like the petals of a flower.
Vorlons were a mysterious race, only ever encountered in specially built environment suits; and when they spoke, it'd be simple sentences, yet laden with meaning.
Because their level of technology was so advanced, no human or other race had ever seen the Vorlon Homeworld; and everybody assumed it'd be a rock in space, like any other, with fancy buildings and flying Vorlon ships. But how could we imagine the skyline of the homeworld of beings so far above us on the evolutionary scale that they appear to us as beings of light, like angels?
I caught a glimpse of that homeworld: or, at least, what I thought that homeworld would be. I estimated the Vorlons' technology to place them at what Carl Sagan would once have described as at least Level 1: able to use the entire energy output of a star, and able to construct whole ecosystems on planets to suit.
I pictured their homeworld to be a vast, organic lattice; a spherical "cloud," hundreds of AUs (Astronomical Units: the measure of one Earth - Sun radius) across and at least two dozen AUs deep, each particle of that lattice being a globe of organic design the size of a planet, all the planets the same size, all of them joined together in a complex web of gravitational forces.
I was, in a way, looking at the Vorlon answer to Indra's Web.
And I knew that, because I'd seen this, the Vorlons would soon be after me, to silence me from divulging their greatest secret.
The Parliament of Cats
September 28, 2001
I found myself in a city, and found myself wandering far from the places of human habitation. I came across a part of the city intended for cats only. Cats lounged on park benches, strode unchallenged down streets free of traffic and generally made use of facilities intended for themselves alone.
Quite without intending to, I stumbled upon a gathering of cats, surrounding a main speaker, out in a park. I'd stumbled upon the Parliament of Cats.
When the cats spotted me, they began to pile themselves upon me. They climbed onto my back, jumped onto my shoulders, nibbled at my earlobes and raised a raucuos feline hue and cry.
There was only one cat who could help me; Timoshinko, an old cat, a former pet of mine who'd been dead since 1981. This short - haired ginger tom with a white belly spotted me and came up to me.
Timoshinko jumped onto my shoulder, sniffed at me and somehow managed to persuade the other cats to leave me alone. Presumably, by vouching for me, Timoshinko managed to give me passage through the Cat District of the city.
Alarm Clocks
September 22, 2001
This whole week has seen some odd times for me, and some odd dreams following as my mind tries to make sense of things.
This one is a fragment of a longer dream, of which I can only recall a piece.
I was walking home with Mum along the North Wales Coast. For some reason, "home" meant heading west, along the new coast road, away from the place I actually live in.
This is a road which is notorious for the punctuality and frequency of its really cheap public transport system: i.e. never around, and way too expensive, for those of you still getting used to the concept of sarcasm. So, having no cars of our own, Mum and I had to walk home, along the open road through some wonderful scenery.
I can always be relied upon to create some wonderful mental landscapes ...
We were on this stretch of open road, when Mum spotted this open patch of road. It looked like someone had opened up a grate in the road, but the more I looked at it, the more I realised that it was as if somebody had actually just removed a rectangle of the road itself, to reveal what lay beneath it.
Mum reached down into this hole in the road, and found out that under it was clear, clean water, rushing along the direction we were heading. Also, when she pulled her hand out, it came out with an alarm clock in it. A big, brass, old - fashioned wind up alarm clock, with hands and a face and two big bells on the top. It wasn't ticking.
From the side of the road, I looked down through the hole, and I saw the water, and the clock ... and all the other clocks too, all of them beneath the surface of the water.
The clock in Mum's hand has a pupil's name, and a school in North Wales named after a saint: St Francis or some such. Looking closer, I saw that all of these clocks had the names of schoolchildren, or former pupils of, Catholic schools. Many were not ticking, but a few of them were, albeit very faintly ...
Black Tuesday
September 11, 2001
This morning, I had a dream.
I dreamt of an organised terrorist strike which sent fanatics in with explosives to take out a major trade centre.
In broad daylight, while thousands of commuters went to work, explosions would demolish a major landmark in a world capital. Possibly thousands of people packed into that landmark would die when it collapsed.
My dream told me every detail, except one thing.
I dreamed it would be Westminster Bridge, London, and the bridge would be bombed out of existence with demolition charges professionally set at structural weakpoints by terrorists, detonated at a time when thousands of people would be walking on the bridge itself. The mission was one of terrorism through deliberate demolition of a structure: the assassination of a world famous landmark.
I feel like the guy who woke up on November 22, 1963 and yelled "Nixon's going to be hit!"
Today, September 11, 2001, two hijacked commercial jetliners, one a Boeing 767, struck the World Trade Centre's twin towers in New York, utterly demolishing them and wiping a major world trade landmark off the face of the Earth. A third hijacked commercial aeroplane crashed into the Pentagon, causing its partial collapse.
I can't say any more about the horror of this day. Words fail me.
"The Dreams That Stuff Are Made Of ...
Episode One"
August, 2001
The following is an extract from a conversation between ATG and a colleague over Yahoo Messenger.
atg: I wake up giggling like a fool from dreams like these. Regular. Freak out all the neighbours.
nyghtshayde9: Hehe...I have weird dreams. All the time. Sometimes they're really funny...sometimes they're really...um...erotic. But they're always freaky.
atg: Like that dream I had for the masthead of one of our local tabloids, The Sun: "Entertainment, Not Content" and another one which went "News Of The World. Because Paper Will Not Refuse Ink."
nyghtshayde9: Teehee...
atg: And the KFC advert which kept going on about the "New Special Ingredient" and how it was a top secret ... and then at the end, there was this disclaimer: "Caution: The new special ingredient featured in this advertisement may harm people who have an allergy to garlic."
nyghtshayde9: :D :D :D :D
atg: It's like the dream I had about a milk carton. On the top, it said "Opening instructions: see bottom." So I turned it over, and it read "Open other end."
nyghtshayde9: :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D
nyghtshayde9: I love weird ass dreams...
atg: I love mine ... they are really strange like that ...
nyghtshayde9: Every once in a while I have a dream that's a bit more on the nightmarish side, but even those I try to write down if I can.
atg: Yeah. There was one I wrote down in my dream journal from last January. Britain had totally gone to the dogs, and I was leading a team of refugees.
nyghtshayde9: To where?
atg: What government was in charge had gone fascist overnight. It had been a bloody coup d'etat. I was hoping to get the refugees safely to Scotland, and thence to France.
atg: Anyway, last week I had the prequel ...
nyghtshayde9: Prequel?
atg: Yeah ... when it was all coming down, all turning to shit.
atg: There was this rally, an Anti - Nazi League protest, very peaceful. I was one of the Stewards monitoring the progress of the rally.
atg: But then there were agitators in the crowd, paid by the government to throw stones, incite violence ... all of that. The riot cops came down hard, on cue, like they'd been practicing.
nyghtshayde9: Oh wow...
atg: I had to get innocent civilians ... women, children, old men and women ... out of the way. There was this mall, deserted due to the strike. On the top floor there was this theatre, a concourse and a quadrangle where the civilians could rest. But then someone passed me the word over the walkie talkie: there was a column of Nazi demonstrators coming right for us.
nyghtshayde9: Oh man...
atg: I had to figure out an escape route ... at the end I came in, there were more Nazis, marching by, ignoring the entrance. I walked out, blended in with the other Stewards. I found the code, and broadcast that there was some sort of ANL rally down in the docks ... they all broke up and headed down to the docks.
nyghtshayde9: That's really fucked up...
atg: I got back, and I wandered up to the main concourse ... women, children, sick and injured, multiethnic ... and then I heard the distant chanting.
nyghtshayde9: I've only had one or two politically based "war" type dreams that I remember...
atg: Way over in the distance, right over at the far end of the open air plaza, there was a set of steps down to the street. And up those steps ... the Nazis were coming. Marching. Waving flags. Chanting ... in other words, the shelter had been compromised, and I had to get a mall full of hundreds of civilians, many of them barely able to walk, out of the mall before we got noticed ...
atg: That's when the second dream started.
atg: Welcome to my nightmares.
atg: Glad to say, I am only an occasional visitor ...
nyghtshayde9: Understandable...
atg: What frightens me is that there are others who dream things like this regularly ... and they are the ones coming up the stairs, chanting ...
"The Dreams That Stuff Are Made Of ..."
25 January, 2001
Everything had broken down. Britain had finally gone all Banana Republic.
Soldiers in leather uniforms and polished jackboots goose - stepped through the streets. Black Gestapo - style peaked caps, officers carrying riding crops which they'd slap against their jodhpurs, thick black handlebar moustaches and stubble, monocles or eyepatches, gold teeth, brocade.
Screams, gunfire, shouting crowds, cars merrily burning in the smoke - filled streets which used to be the business district, all glamour and steel and glass walls now cracked and stained with soot from the neighbouring burning buildings. From the rooftops, you could see the plumes of smoke rising from the streets all over the city.
One camera crew finds itself in a Victorian arcade, as shouting approached outside. There was a general berating an obviously - cowed Lieutenant; the camera found itself being pushed away, a hand over the lens ... which cleared to reveal the barrel of the general's sidearm, pointing right at the objective lens. More screaming.
I came in at this point, leading a group of refugees fleeing from soldiers. In this corridor leading to a very ornate Edwardian style hotel, we pushed along, as someone behind us threw tear gas grenades. Clouds of white smoke began to fill the corridor behind us, closing off our avenue of retreat.
In the lobby, the group turned left and went up some really ornate, beautiful stairs towards the top floor. On the rooftop, I watched as the fires blazed out of control; then led my people down the stairwell.
Halfway down, a kid broke loose; a toddler, but possessed of uncanny agility. Despite everyone's efforts to contain the little brat, he escaped and made his way down right into the lobby. Being the responsible leader I, of course, had to follow; which I did, warning the group to stay hidden until I returned with this wayward child.
Finally, I managed to corner this terrible toddler ... but then, alerted by its cries of delight and innocent (though annoying) wonder, soldiers' voices and the sound of running footsteps echoed from a corridor beyond. Grabbing this kid, I raced across the empty lobby and handed it back to its mother, telling her to get my people out of here, saying "Hide! The place crawls!"
And then all I remember of the rest of it is heading off alone into a side corridor which looked like the sacristy of a church.
23 January, 2001
I was a very strange character in this dream. Apparently, I could exist in two forms: a normal human form, and apparently as a pool of liquid darkness which was only stable inside a pool of shade or within natural darkness.
As a form of darkness, I could pour myself into concealment in any sort of shade, from the dark shadows beneath stationary vehicles parked on the side of the road to the long, thin shadows of lampposts. I could hide underneath someone's feet, if necessary, and in a large enough pool of shade, for example one formed by the high walls of an alley, I could form myself into a humanoid shape of solid darkness of about my normal size and shape.
In this dream, it seemed, this talent of mine was in high demand. I was being pursued by agencies determined to make use of my talents, or to reproduce them in their own agents. These agencies would stop at nothing to get me. But weapons were really no use at all against me ... except for light. And that meant lasers.
In order to escape these people, I had to make my way home. But home was not that easy to get to; every way in seemed to be on the wrong side of each and every building, and all the streets seemed to be dead ends.
Finally, I found that one high level office block afforded a way into my adjacent top floor apartment next door. The problem was, I had to clamber across a set of planks laid out across the gap between the facing window of the office block and the balcony of my apartment.
I came up with an alternative solution. In my state of liquid darkness, I could traverse through any form of natural darkness or shade. A kindly colleague supplied me with a fibre optic communications cable, which she strung between the office and the apartment. With no lasers passing through the cable, it provided a natural, flexible conduit through which I could pass.
As the dream ended, I began speculating about the idea of laying a network of dead fibre optic cables across town to get from place to place quickly; a private teleport network, as it were ...
22 January, 2001
After a week of unremarkable and forgotten dreams, finally a good one.
I dreamed that I was an actor playing a very convincing ape. There was a stage play, and I was in the front row in my ape costume, apparently reading a copy of Aldous Huxley's The Doors of Perception / Heaven and Hell.
As a side note, I made a point of looking up the copy of the book in my library. The book fell open on a page with the quote "O nobly born, let thy mind not be distracted," the opening line of The Tibetan Book of The Dead.
Back to the dream: My party piece came up. Getting to the front of the audience, who were still apparently convinced that I was a simian despite my obvious erudition, I turned on a CD player, which promptly began to play "Uranus, The Magician" from Holst's Planets Suite. As the track played, I stood upright and removed the primate costume, revealing the human beneath, much to the astonishment of the clearly unsophisticated audience.
This strange striptease, apparently, represented the Ascension of Mankind from lower primate to the present form.
And yet I still somehow managed to make a monkey out of my audience ...
1 - 14 January, 2001
Here are three of the best ...
- There were these grasses which had been genetically modified somehow, such that if someone stepped onto a patch of the grass, it twined itself about the hapless victim and drew him or her down through the soft ground, as if by a process of osmosis.
In fact, the grass was dragging the poor sods down straight into Hell ...
* * *
- I frequently dream of being able to fly. When I choose to fly in my dreams, my back sprouts a pair of large, black raven's wings, and my head sprouts a crown of raven feathers.
I've been practicing how to fly in my dreams, and I reckon I've become quite good at it.
In this dream, I found myself in a classical Victorian - decor hotel, on one of the top floors. My whole family and I were there: Mum, Dad, both my little sisters and my brother, and even all of their little ones.
We had, in our adventures together, uncovered a huge yellow metallic rock. It was too heavy for iron pyrites, and besides iron pyrites is cubic in form. This was pure metal gold.
The rest of my family and I had taken it to be assayed, leaving one of my little sisters, Berni, behind in the hotel room. I left the family in the assay office and came back ... only to find a large mob coming after me to get to the hotel room.
I had to go and warn Berni, who was alone ... and, of course, there was no nugget, but who knew what the mob would do if it got to Berni? Hold her hostage, maybe, until we divulged the secret of where we got the rock from, or something?
Fortunately, I had a seven floor head start. I got to the top floor in time, and dragged Berni out of the window, putting on the wings just as the mob reached the top floor.
As the dream came to a close, I flew with Berni to where the rest of my family were waiting for us, safe and sound on a ferry already departing from the port ...
* * *
- I dreamed of an army being given injections of 7% cocaine before being sent into battle.
It was only a short time later that the cocaine solution became smart drugs; drugs to stimulate the mind. Instead of making the soldiers superstrong berserkers, why not give them something in an inhaler that makes them instant learning machines and total geniuses?
For one thing, minds brighter than those of the generals leading them might find themselves going against orders they know are dangerous and suicidal. For another, they may find themselves up against others of their own kind on the opposite sides of the battle ... and quickly work out a better way of resolving the political dispute than by shooting guns and knives. For example, by playing tournament matches of Chess or Go ... or even Poker ...
* * *
December 31, 2000
What I remember of my dream this morning was of getting a job and earning a really big wage: big enough to allow me the luxury of being able to jet off to Texas, among other places, and to visit my girlfriend.
Something a friend said yesterday also appealed to me: I dreamed of applying to the Canadian Government to set up a house in British Columbia, on Canada's West Coast, near Vancouver. I also dreamed of New Zealand, and of the incredible countryside there.
I dreamed of the house I'd like to build and live in, with a huge library, plenty of room for ten people and a courtyard in the middle. When I dream of building a house, it always seems to have a courtyard in the middle.
I wonder what dreams I will have in the New Year ... hopefully, good ones. Ones which also have a habit of coming true.
December 27, 2000
All of this site is the result of one email catalyst, which sparked a dream.
The catalyst was an email I received in the dying days of 2000, from a visitor to my previous site. She was moved enough by it to write to me, suggesting I keep a Weblog on my site. That was just the catalyst ... but it was enough.
In honour of that friend, I dedicate this dream journal page to her, with thanks.
Listing My Dreams
Dreams will be listed in date order, most recent first, and if the dream comes from someone else, the author will be identified by a pseudonym.
Sometimes, interpretations will be posted immediately beneath an interpreted dream.
Not Just Dreams
Where feasible, I'll list readings I've taken, typically for myself but occasionally for pseudonymous clients. The date will be given, the client's pseudonym and the query, followed by the cards or runes read and interpretation.
You Can Have A Go
If you wish, you can contact me with your dreams, or with any readings you have had given to you which you may wish to share. You will be identified only with a pseudonym, but it will help if you also give the date you had your dream or reading, and in the case of a reading, what the question was that you asked.
Contact me here.
This page, its contents and this whole site, are Copyright © Alexander T Greene, 2001. All rights reserved.
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