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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.

Monday, March 24, 2014

Wildly Variant Snippets

Was awakened multiple times last night (once by a pair of neighbors who were trying not to shine their lights in one another's homes - while simultaneously pulling out of their driveways. Unfortunately they were headed in opposite directions and attempted to drive through one another. No one was seriously hurt.) Every time I woke it was from a dream, and now, a lunch time later, I can remember none of the dreams themselves.  Just brown and loud, blue and musical, yellow-green and giggly, red-brown and nearly silent but tense, rolling thunder far distant.

I do remember thinking how wildly different the dreams were in content: the look, the sound, the color themes, the characters or lack of characters were as though my dreams were all directed by different directors with different casts, or even different animation teams - some of them were not realistic looking - very cartoon or video game like. It has made me wonder if people who aren't exposed to a wide variety of film or television or other art have dreams that are stylistically the same from night to night. 


Monday, March 17, 2014

Working at the Cinema

The dream started, for the first time, with me already inside the Dream City theater, in the large center theater of the multiple theaters. This one had a stage in front of its screen and two control booths, one for the projectors and another just off to the side and lower for audio and theatrical lighting system. I had been brought in to run the technology for an upcoming presentation that featured a live presenter.

The presenter, of course, didn't have the right connector to make the connection from his computer to the projector (a lovely six lamp affair with two lenses.) I don't know what brand it was, but it seemed to have every possible video input in the world on its back panel, except for the one for this presenter's computer.

"That's the trouble with hosting all these transdimensional events, no real standards."

That made me chuckle, as I work/live in just one of those dimensions and we can't even settle on a standard. I had to go down the ladder into the hallway and then up into the other booth. I rummaged around a bit and found some cables I could take apart to make an adaptor for his computer. Fortunately the presenter was travelling with a companion, as there would need to be someone in the projection booth to advance the presentation (his remote didn't reach from the front of the room.) While I was there to run the stage lights and the sound. I have to admit that I couldn't follow the presentation, and judging from the sparce attendance, and the number of folks who left in the middle, not many others were following it either.

It occurred to me that I have dreams that the content of what I'm doing doesn't actually make any sense if I look at it. This made me wonder exactly who's dream this is. At which point I woke up, so I'm gussing it was mine.

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Saturday, March 15, 2014

Hidden House, Not the Chosen One

I dreamed again of the large bookshelf lined dome house, with its long spiral stair up to the second floor which was open to the floor below, with a grand round promenade that looked over the center of the house below and up into the sky dome above. The house was being rebuilt, and not everything was in place. There were unruly piles of furniture and books waiting to be sorted, a stack of floor lamps awaiting repairs and transportation back to their proper locations. Because of this there were large pools of darkness on the floor below, lending an aura of creepiness to the stillness. The house should have been buzzing with activity, but I'd sent the workers home, just wanting to sit and relax quietly under the moonlight coming in from the sky dome.

In the solitude, I began to hear noises, like conversation. Either someone had left a radio on, or someone hadn't gone home. As the sounds drifted up to my ear I could tell the tones were conversational, male and female, so decided it must be the latter. I made my way downstairs and followed the intermittent noise, made difficult by the acoustics of the dome. Eventually I found a doorway that led to an older part of the house. It had been covered in the rubble of the original disaster and had not yet been cleared. I dug it out, remembering that it went to an older, underground portion of the house. There was a back door of sorts, in the hillside across the berm that covered the servant living/storage quarters and separated my property from the graveyard property. I made my way down the long dark hall, now empty of its angry ghost, into the brightly lit yellow and white gingham kitchen, and there was N and her boyfriend, who she introduced as Derek.

I'd never seen him before, but was amused that he was a chubby, crew-cut, suit wearing sort. He was obviously older, but just as obviously was dying his hair, and scalp, where his hair was thin. The complete opposite of everything she had previously found desirable. Even though I was angry to find them in my home, this made me laugh.

Laughing as I told them to pack up their junk and leave made Derek angry. Fighting angry. He came at me swinging, but I backed up and tapped him on the nose over his missed swing. He went down with a howl. I politely suggested that he not get up for a moment. N made some comment about how I'd never fought for her.

I suggested that if I'd known about Derek when we were married I would have done far worse than merely bopping him on the nose like a bad puppy. I told her it's far too late to give me the opportunity for fight for her, so he's all hers and to take him away with the rest of her crap. It was a very tense dream moment, but also, oddly, satisfying when they picked up their stuff and began stacking it outside the door.


This morning, I dreamed I was playing a mash-up World of Warcraft, Diablo III sort of campaign, and soon it was real, rushing around trying to avoid the undead, unleashing powerful magics and then leaping huge distances to clear surrounding hordes of evil undead. I raced through the map, avoiding creeps where I could and engaging from a distance where I couldn't. At the conclusion of the conflict I somehow managed to return home victorious. Others were gathered there, and greeted me as the "chosen one" who would lead them all to final victory. Now, I'd actually come to report my successes to the person who previously had been considered the "chosen one" and asked him to straighten everybody out. We went out to the crowd, who pointed out that I fit the prophesy.

I pointed out that I didn't. Their leader was the one with the one handed companion, not me. I didn't even have a companion!

A little gnome jumped up with a large axe in her hand, "I'll be your companion!" Then she raised the axe to chop off her hand.

I intercepted the axe and took it away from her. "I'd love to have you as a companion, but you can keep your hand."

"I'll just tuck it here in my belt, then." Well, she missed a little and her hand went right down the front of her pants, her big gblue eyes went wide at the error, causing a ripple of laughter through the crowd. I put down my magic bow, then knelt down and hugged her.

"It will be good to have help in the coming conflict, I'm honored."

A different Gnome picked up my bow, and held it aloft. It was an oddly designed thing, more of a harpoon gun than a crossbow, and so it had but a single large cocking lever outside, as the works were entirely internal. "Look, a one-armed companion to me!" The Gnomes in the crowd all hushed and then after the laughing stopped, a silence fell across the whole crowd.

"We should go plan your final campaign," the real chosen one leaned over to me. My Gnome companion took my weapon and, even though it was half again as tall as she, held it aloft and fell in behind us. I would rather have strapped the weapon back on, as I felt a little exposed without its heft at my side, but the pride of the Gnomes seemed wrapped up in my weapon, which I realized was likely an ancient Gnomish design (and proably why I had kept it and continued to add enchantments to it regularly.) "It appears you have fulfilled another part of the prophesy."

"How so?"

He looked over his shoulder, which prompted me to do the same. "That sure looks like you raised the whole Gnomish Army in a single minute." And there was indeed an army's worth of grim faced gnomes gathered respectfully in the courtyard behind us.

"I am not the chosen one. I don't even believe in the chosen one."

"It's not about what you believe at this point." He paused at the top of the stairs to look out over his outer courtyard. Portable forges were being set up everywhere. Gnomes, Dwarves and Men were working together to arm and armor the Gnomish host following us. "They have chosen you, that MAKES you the chosen one, by definition, really, it's quite simple."

That made me sad, because I was pretty sure that I wasn't even going to pick up the game again, as my subscription had run out and I didn't think I played enough to warrant the expense.

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Friday, March 14, 2014

Robot Shark, Split Personality Dating

The dream was in a future where one could have robots made to do almost any domestic task, and they could take nearly any form. I had an auxillary self, a duplicate, really, who served as my spare brain. It (he?) was a labcoat wearing, thickly bespectacled version of myself. Over the years, he'd become my primary face for dealing with the world, since he didn't age and was always in great shape.

Inspectors arrived, however, and I knew there would be trouble. My other robot (or one of my other robots) was a large housekeeping shark. It "swam" around the grounds picking up after my robot avatar and myself, cleaning the floors and other horizontal surfaces, and generally screening the folks who arrived unexpected at the front door. I think it was that last duty that had gotten us in trouble. The shark robot had very realistic looking teeth. Several rows of them, actually, it was modeled on a Great White shark, the last one in captivity had died a few years earlier, so I had the robot made in its honor.

The inspector was a woman I had met at a convention. Middle aged, but still full-lipped and dark haired with high cheek bones and bright blue eyes. I was fairly certain this was actually a robot avatar much like my own. We'd hit it off, or rather my avatar and hers had hit it off. For the inspection she was really present, as the government was restricted from using avatars to conduct business. Even though she'd come to put my guard shark down, she was kind enough to let us give her a tour of my home. She was quite impressed, and really didn't want to destroy my sharkbot after seeing it in action. However, she had a job to do.

After we dissassembled the shark and converted it into a strangely disjointed  cubist version of itself; three sections without sharp teeth or razor fins that were connected by shimmering cables. She recertified the guard shark as "safe" and allowed me to keep it. It still swam through the house, but looked more like a trio of battered Star Wars robot rejects leashed together and bobbing along comically.

The Inspector agreed to go out with my avatar and myself after the neutering of sharkbot was complete.  As dinner ended she expressed confusion about her feelings of affection, I reassured her that it was okay to love us both, since, really, we were just one person. Oddly enough, this seemed to satisfy her and the evening ended with a great kiss, or two of them, actually.

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Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Didn't I Just See that on TV?

The dream was a typical mish mash dream with nothing truly memorable to note, with the exception of my looking at a pair of photocopied pages (Windows 8 Cheat sheets for my dad.) While I was looking at them, I realized the situation I was in was exactly the same as a "Pawn Stars" episode I'd recently seen. Only I was not at a pawn shop, and these weren't valuable documents by any stretch of the imagination.The restaurant cashier wasn't about to take them in trade for dinner, either.

So, not quite exactly like on TV after all. It just felt that way. I laughed so hard I woke myself up.

Sunday, March 09, 2014

If it's Six AM, then I'm Already Late!

This time change always takes me quite a bit to get used to. It throws the cats off, too.

In my dream I woke to the pawing of hungry cats. It was pitch black save for the glow of the alarm clock.(Which I found odd, since I knew, even in the dream, that I'd removed the lamp from the clock years ago.) I fumbled around and picked up the clock in one hand and found my glasses with the other. The time was just a moment before six AM. Panic coursed through me, apparently the light on the timer was still off (I shut it off so I can sleep in on the weekends. I know I'm not supposed to, but I think the cats have come to look forward to sleeping in as much as I do.) My heart started racing and I tried to roll out of bed, but found that I couldn't move.

I realized this was a false wakening, and woke myself up, only to discover that I couldn't move my arms and legs at all, the timed light was on, the cats were in the other room singing "The Breakfast Song" and generally knocking things about. I heard a helicopter overhead, the beat of the blades rattling the windows so that it was impossible, from inside the house, to hear anything but the vaguest "wanh, wanh wanh..." of the P.A. system. I hoped it wasn't something serious - like an evacuation notice.

Then everything was blue and yellow swirls around a translucent silvery egg about the size of an armchair, but narrower. I couldn't tell if I was the silvery egg or the swirling tendrils of color. I seemed to be outside of the whole scene but somehow fully contained as well. I was thinking that I didn't have time to figure this out, because, it's... if it's six AM, then I'm already late for work!

I struggled out of the paralysis, checked the headboard clock, and it was indeed a few minutes after six, so I tossed off the covers, scattering the cats, and raced out into the kitchen to feed them. I couldn't find their bowls, however, and there were two new tables each with a set of four matching chairs in the front room that I'd never seen before. That explained all the weird knocking around sounds from earlier.

"Who would break in and leave furniture" I fumed aloud to no one.

It dawned on me that it was Sunday, and somehow that made it all okay, especially since I wouldn't have to drive to work naked.

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Tuesday, March 04, 2014

Wolfmen on the Moon

Yep. That was the dream. Werewolves on the moon. They were in spacesuits, but even without air they seemed happy to be romping about. Apparently lack of oxygen doesn't affect werewolves in space.

Saturday, March 01, 2014

Accidental Downspout

I was dressed in a green wool suit, wholly inappropriate for the weather, but right for the 1940's style murder mystery weekend I was acting in. I was glad that my character would be killed in the first half of the first day. After that, I would go into town and get a shave and a haircut, rinse out the temporary hair color and return as a late arriving "guest" for the rest of the weekend. My job at that point would be to be a sort of improvisational "shill" who would be responsible for making sure one of the investigation teams stayed somewhat on track with the story. Missing out on the main action would give me the excuse to say "What happened, again?" with great sincerity. I had done this enough times to discover that was typically enough to keep things on track.

I always got a kick out of the round up at the end of the weekend where our roles were revealed. There were always a few people who never knew I was one of the main cast the first morning.

This particular time, things went a little bit odd when I returned from town. There was a child out on the porch, just sitting and looking out at the rain. Now, this is an "adult" weekend, as there are frequent bad words, some partial nudity, and the occasional heavy sexual tension. (Sometimes the guests brought their own brand of this, which, as a single actor, was not unwelcome.) So, I was surprised to see the child. I stepped out onto the patio to try to determine where he belonged.

And I was a child, playing on the same patio, but newer, with a fresh coat of whitewash, and brand new cloth screens between the beams. "Let's go on the roof to watch the storm come in!" said a little brown-haired boy, my brother, older, braver, but shorter than myself.

I watched as he swung out of the patio door and hoisted himself up the corner post, stepping on the lantern support and then up onto the roof. I ran out to the uncovered part of the patio, pacing him as he raced over to the shorter part of the roof. By leaning back, I could see the black and green cloud wall approaching. Wind and lightning whipped around the thing silently. The wind stirred across the yard behind me and flowed, full of the leaves dropped in an early fall, up and over the roof of the house, as if the storm contained some giant vacuum cleaner. "Get up here! It's keen!"

"I can see it from here. Looks like a tornado, we should get in the basement!"

"It's too late for a tornado, you're missing the lightning!"

"I can see it from here!"

"No you can't!"

"Can, too!"


Well, I couldn't let that stand, so I hopped up on the rail and walked over to the corner post with the lantern support. My brother had turned back to watch the storm. The climb terrified me. I half walked half crouched over to my brother once I was on the roof. It was covered in leaves and the footing seemed unsure. He laughed but quickly turned back to the storm. He was right, of course, I couldn't see all of the lightning. The storm had to be at least a mile across, a solid green-gray wall of blurry motion, shot through with lightning that rippled around the circle, up into the thick clouds above and leaping off the roofs and trees below as though it were being drawn up into the thing.

I stood, completely amazed, entranced.

"Told you."

"Uh huh." I nodded, still standing slightly hunched over, afraid I would fall backwards.

We could hear the rumbling of nearly continuous thunder, like an approaching freight train. The cloud and its lightning storm began to blur and fade. Too late, I realized that was the storm letting loose, the curtain falling on a show. I turned and went back to the patio, where it would be easier to get down.

"Yellow!" My brother teased.

"I don't want to get..."

But it was too late. The water from the storm front hit. I could barely make out my brother, it was as if I'd been dowsed with the laundry tub, only the water kept coming. I scrambled on all fours to the corner post, easing myself down over the edge of the roof, hanging on to the lantern support for all I was worth. I could feel my feet slipping on the hand rail of the open part of the patio. I turned to see where my brother was. He was coming straight down the roof. I'd seen him hang from the gutter and drop to the patio chair before, so figured that was what he was going to do. I grunted, I should of done that. It was a ten foot drop off the handrail to the ground below if I slipped.

Then, the wind came. I could feel the whole house shake. My brother hadn't made it back to where the patio was when he slipped, then rolled towards the edge of the roof. It was probably twenty feet to the ground where he was. I shouted his name. His foot slammed into the gutter and he hunched up against it legs drawn up to his chest, but instead of crawling back to the relative safety of the porch overhang, he stood up and waved at me, keeping one foot in the gutter. Another gust, and I dropped to the rail, forcing myself to fall on the patio side. It hurt, but I was safe. I stood up, there was no sign of my brother, the gutter where he'd been standing was burst out, and water poured out of the accidental downspout. I limped over to the rail, but couldn't bring myself to look down right away.

After a moment, I followed the falling stream of water, watching it arc down past the patio, and finally to where it splashed on the small crumpled form of my brother in the broken berry bushes below. And I knew, I just knew he was gone.

The adult me stood alone on the patio, in the midst of a sudden fall shower. I turned and looked out past the edge of the patio, eyes along the roof line, and there about six feet past the end of the patio was a rusted hole with the ragged edges still slightly bowed out, water poured out of it far in excess of what one might expect for such a gentle rain. I walked to the edge of the patio, following the falling water with my eye, and there at the bottom of the fall, it fell in a bramble bush, pushing the leaves and branches playfully to splash on what I'd always thought to be just a granite stone, but that I now realized was a grave marker. The young boy was there with me, appearing out of nowhere.

"It wasn't your fault." I said.

"I still miss him. He won't come play in the rain any more."

"Of course you do. He loved you." I turned to face the boy, and he faded away smiling sadly.

The older gentleman who owned the house slid open the door. He watched me standing in the rain for a moment or two, then motioned with a towel in his hand.

I looked out at the gutter again for a moment, then turned back to the house.

He handed me the towel. "I should fix that gutter some time."

I looked at him, "no need, looks like the water goes right where it's needed."

"You saw him, didn't you."

I nodded. I could hear the sounds of the guests chattering about their clues in distant parts of the house, the old man and I looked out across the rainy valley.

"I still miss him."

"Of course you do, he loved the wonder of the world, the adventure of it, loved you."

The old man handed me another towel, "hold that for me,"  then stepped out onto the patio himself.

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