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Fermius Firefly

A Dream Log, whenever I remember the dreams I've had.

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Location: San Marcos, United States

Fermius is a pen name drawn from a series of short fiction I wrote when I published the small press magazine Stellanova (on paper.) I play RPG games to escape from my daily grind as a technology wage slave for the state of California. I eat out a lot in order to do my part in supporting our increasingly service level economy. I am butler to 2 feline masters. If you ask them they will tell you I'm not very good at it, late with dinner, don't have enough hands with brushes in them, and sometimes I even lock them out of their office.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

"Your Dog is Dead."

        N and I were going to visit my parents. As soon as we arrive, dad comes out of the door between the house and the garage (When the garage door is open we often use that door as it is much easier to open and we dont have to wrestle with the worlds toughest screen door.)

        Brace yourself, you dog is dead.

        We dont have a dog, and my one attempt at dog ownership ended in euthanasia at only a couple of weeks. I figured he must have been talking about T-Rex, who N refers to as my dog.

        No, T-Rex, no! I ran into their house to the patio, where I assumed T-Rex would have been staying. (Though I dont know why he would have been at my parents home.)

        I got to the patio, and there was Sasha, my dog, only very much a ghostly form. Crystal and her kittens were there (White cats) as well as Tiny and several of our other deceased pets.

        I thought this was becoming a real night terror at that point, but the animal spirits were actually comforting, and a little reassuring even if they were creepy at the same time.

Ad astra per technica,


Monday, October 20, 2008

Spirit Mom, Staying Alive

        Being sick always kills my dreaming, and Ive been sick a lot recently.

        I do remember a short bit from a couple of nights ago. My mothers spirit came into our bedroom. The garage cats had escaped, and we couldnt get Purina in. My moms spirit laid down on the bed, and coaxed Purina into the house. Not the garage, which is where she prefers to be, but actually into the house.

        This morning I dreamed I was driving back to work. Escondido had vanished, except for the freeway. Even the exit ramps were gone. The radio sputtered and was filled with unintelligible sounds that merged into static. I shut the sound off.

I pulled over, because I realized that I wasnt wearing any pants. I had several pair in the trunk of Little Red, for some reason (I do keep a pair of old grubby workpants, just in case.) I couldnt decide which to wear, to tossed a coin to determine light or dark, and then again to pick blue or black. Blue jeans won out.

        I then realized that I was only in a T-shirt, so started rummaging through my pack for a flannel shirt to go with the jeans. It looked like I had been living out of my car. As I was rummaging the traffic began to slow to a crawl. A camper with a popup tow behind stopped out in the lanes across from where I was parked. There were a bunch of tweens in the tow behind, stacked in there like carelessly tossed rag dolls. One girl climbed out of the pile and was trying to get the attention of the driver of the camper. The chubby little brunette (What I call American Teen sized) tried to walk out along the tow rig to where she could wave at the side mirror. Traffic began to move and she fell off the bumper of the camper. She managed to grab the ladder on the back and was able to run fast enough to keep up, and to avoid being run over. As the tow behind began to block my view I was pretty sure shed managed to pull herself back up off the ground.

        There was a little red shoe left behind the camper and tow behind, I was pretty sure it hadnt been on the road earlier.

I reached into my car to honk the horn. Suddenly I had the conviction that the others in the popup behind the camper were actually dead, and the driver really didnt care about the one he was nearly dragging behind, because he or she assumed the girls were all dead.

I pulled out my cell phone to call 911, only to be told the phone could not connect that call. I began to drive along the shoulder, hoping to catch up and stop the camper. I called 411 to get the number of the Escondido police, only to be told there was no such city. The same thing with Poway and San Diego. I could see the Interstate 15 signs, but apparently I was not really in this world. I drove for a couple of minutes, finally catching up with the camper and its panicked looking passenger. I waved to her, and when she turned to look at me, I could tell, by the gray pallor and the matted hair and the missing eye, that she was also dead, she just didnt know it yet. She acted like she couldnt even see me, or my car.

I stopped the car and looked back, through the windscreens of all the cars on the freeway. All of them were dead, and none of them seemed to know it yet. I wondered if I was dead, too, when Staying Alive started playing on the car radio.

Ad astra per technica,


Thursday, October 16, 2008

This Would be Good for the Drog...Except....

       I dreamed this morning, but all I could remember is thinking, “I have to remember this, this would be good for the drog.”
       Not particularly useful. I usually try to come up with a sort of title and plot synopsis, enough to jog my memory when I finally set down to a keyboard with a moment to type it up. This title was less than useless.

Sorry, I got nothing,

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Furniture Polish, Ghosts, Returning to HS, N Gone

       I dreamed that someone had poured a dark wood polish on a silvery white wood table. I managed to get it wiped off, and blended in the darker spot so it wasn't so obvious. I then took the polish soaked rag and went around the house touching up all the dark stained wood furniture.
       I then found myself in a haunted house, ghost-busting. I had a small hand device that would zap the ghost. It would run/float past me, and be trapped in a device I carried strapped to my back. There were other ghost busters there, with the larger proton colliders and the traps. There seemed to be a sort of friendly competition going on. My trapping process was faster, but I was talking to the spirits to determine if they needed trapping or not.
       I dreamed I almost fell down a set of poorly constructed stairs on the stage at MCHS when I was sent to work on the computers connected to the sound system. I gave the “No theatrical effect is worth risking the safety of your cast or crew” speech to the assembled tech kids.
       “Well, how should we build the stairs?” One defensively asked.
       “Here's some basic engineering principals for the stage here,” I began, and then pulled up the white board and showed them how to build trestles, and brace using triangles. I spoke about the high center of gravity of most set pieces and proper counter-balancing to fix that issue.
       The director asked if I would be willing to take over the technical direction of the show. I offered, instead, to be available as a resource for a student technical director.

       When I got to my office, I realized that I didn't have keys to get in, so made my way across a very crowded quad to the main office. I wasn't the only new staff member checking in, S was there, returning also, but instead of as a student she was now a teacher, Literature and Writing was her major.
       “Not theater?”
       “No, I found I actually like the history and the creative writing aspects more than the directing or managing aspects.”
       “How about acting, you are very talented.”
       “I'm too short, and too red-haired and too freckled for professional work. I still perform with a local group, though. You should come a perform with us!”
       “Thanks. I'll come check it out.”

       I dreamed that I was climbing, well more sliding, down a steep hillside. When I reached the bottom I fell into a patch of cactus. As I struggled to free myself with a few punctures as possible, a layer of sand fell on me and then came a cascade of fist sized rocks, pummeling me through the sand. I was trying to stay under the sand, as it was distributing the blows, and still hold myself up off the cactus bed.

       I dreamed I was sitting my my browning back yard, a couple of cases worth of empty brown beer bottles strewn about my feet and overflowing the small resin table. I was drinking. I was also trying to set the empties all upright in neat rows, with my feet. S showed up and asked how I was doing. I gestured to the bottles and the neglected yard.
       S forced me up and helped me inside to the shower. I complained but was ineffective at resisting her. The hot water stung and felt good at the same time. S was so wet from helping me shower that she finally stripped down to her underwear and climbed in with me.
       “Don't get any ideas.”
       “Oh! Way too late.” I was erect before she'd even finished peeling off her blouse.
       “Yeah, well: Clean. Sober. Rested, before you get any of this,” she struck a sexy pose.
       “That's some motivation.”

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Monday, October 13, 2008

Cranky at the Bat

        I dreamed that I was playing baseball. Our side had just run in from the field and the top of our order rolled around. Three hits, no runs up to this point. The first batter gets on board, as does the second. The third batter, me, flies out. I take the place of the third base coach. Our fourth batter grounds out, but we have runners on second and third.

        The fifth batter comes up to the plate, griping about how sure theyre in scoring position, but theres two outs. What am I supposed to do about that? Theres a lot more grousing from the batter. Hes taking a lot of abuse from the infielders, whove all moved in to knock down any grounder. Theres a big gap in the midfield now, but the pitcher keeps the ball high in the strike zone. High enough to be balls, in my opinion, but not the umpires and thats what counts.

        The pitcher stumbles on the mound at 2-2 count.

        I can tell its going to be a wild pitch, and the catcher has no hope of getting the ball. Swing! I shout, and Run, to our man on third.

        No, in my head, Im thinking, third strike, loose ball, player can run for first with a good chance of getting the man home for our first run. But no, our batter steps across the plate to tap the ball into a dribbler back to the pitcher. We score, the runner beats the throw home, but the batter is thrown out at first, because the cranky batter refused to run.

Ad astra per technica,


Tuesday, October 07, 2008

Gaming, Shower Before Adventuring

        I dreamed that I was sitting at a table with N and a couple of others. N and a woman I dont know were gathered around their laptops, and I was sketching a map of our travels on paper with a nice soft mechanical pencil.

        I wasnt the GM. I was playing! I had a Gnomish Combat Engineer, and was running around collecting materials to make the really big bomb as we traipsed through the dungeon of the day. We were moving our miniatures on a web based game assistant system, one that I had the impression of creating. The GM was moving my character, as I was taking notes and making observations. So this was not just a game, it was a sort of system test.

        As we moved through the world the GM had created I added little sketches to the map, and started shading in the map as we cleared the various rooms. We got the large final chamber, and I was able to make my RBB from all the parts Id collected up to that point. The chamber was full of undead. N and our other gamer decided that discretion was the better choice and took off. I handed the other gal my hand rendered map so they could find their way out. My gnome waited for the undead to mass up and tossed in the bomb along with all of his raw meat.

        My character ran, without the map I tried to stay in areas wed already cleared. Unfortunately, the bomb went off while I was behind only a thin brick wall. The wall promptly toppled over on me. The GM ruled that even if I wasnt killed outright, the surviving undead would likely get me if there was no rescue.

        The dice rolled. I survived, with a surprising amount of health, but I was trapped.

N and the other gal decided to run back after the blast and try to find me. There was way too much debate about whether they would do that -- until I pointed out that I was carrying all the expensive loot.

Just before waking up this morning (after N went to work I slipped back to sleep for 15 minutes or so.) I dreamed I was getting ready to go adventuring. I had my satchel of satchels, some food and some rope, as well as a hand cranked flashlight, lighter and candles. I walked back into our bedroom and a very cute brunette wearing a partly open blue fluffy bathrobe came out of my shower. N and yet another gal were dressing.

I wanted to start out clean, she explained.

I didnt think that was adventure wear.

Oh, it could be, she opened up the robe to reveal a very yummy freckle covered chest and a mostly shaved pubic area. She than advanced on me and offered up a very gentle but sexy kiss. I could feel the warmth of her against me where she was uncovered.

I didnt think that N was going to approve, but N didnt say anything.

Ad astra per technica,


Monday, October 06, 2008

Freaky Freeway.

        Not sure whats been going on in my bio-chemistry lately, but I have been having a hard time remembering my dreams. When I do remember them, they have been quite disconcerting.

        From a couple of nights ago, I was dreaming I was in bed. I rolled over to talk to N, and she was complaining of leg pain. I pulled down the covers, and from the pelvis down she was nothing but bone and gristle. Quite the shocker. That one caused me to wake in a cold sweat.

        This morning, I dreamed I was enjoying the drive home; the lack of traffic, though unusual, was a welcome change from the two footed dance I usually do when driving at 5 to 15 mile per hour. As I made my way up the huge hill in Escondido, I began to become concerned. There were dozens of orange warning signs and temporary ramp signs.

        What was worrying is that none of them were in any sort of language that I could read. I was in the far left lane, zooming along, and decided Id better move right, to put myself in the position of being able to exit if I needed. I was going to get off and take surface streets if I could, figuring that I could make my way home, even if the language had changed, the roads looked the same.

        Well, the roads looked the same until I crested the hill. There were two freeways that split out half way down the rise. No exits until after the split. Id moved over too late to make 9th Street; now re-labeled with some sort of alien glyphs. I couldnt read the signs, but could tell that one of the freeways, from the pictographic information, was some sort of by-pass.

I had moved right, and kept with that decision, only to find that I had chosen the by-pass, and there were no exits in sight. I drove in the right lane, curving up and over the city on the bright concrete ribbon, finding myself hoping I could get off the darned thing before I got to the next county. I looked over the side at the city below, spotting my exit on the old freeway.

I looked at my fellow commuters, and found that many of them were also frustrated by the sudden change of direction.

Ad astra per technica,