Hawaiian Shirt Noisy

    Last night's dreams were all over the map, but seemed to have one theme, they were Hawaiian Shirt noisy. By that I mean both the colors and sounds of the dreams. Sometimes I woke with the "What the heck was that?" memory, nothing but sounds and lights, bright patterns and little of anything making any semblance of sense.
    Colors were sounds, and sounds were oddly visible, the refrigerator running was a galloping blue and charcoal gray, the cat meows were bright gold and metal flake red swooshing loops, people voices were odd little checkered patterns that undulated in a variety of colors.
    I was, in one scene, drifting up near the ceiling in my front room, and there were four inch high people running around on my dining table, trying to set up some sort of stick and string tower. I remember thinking that it would be so easy for me to tie the sticks together, if I had hands. That scene, too, eventually broke into a riot of dueling colors and sharp staccato bursts of meaningless sound.