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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.

Sunday, June 29, 2014

Un-Handy-Wipe, Broken Stat Display

In the first dream offering of the evening, I was trying to clean up after my slightly incontinent cat, who I still don't have the identity of, so there are still six suspects. To aid my "quest" I had purchased a new type of Handi-Wipe. I took the first one out of the bag, and it was about six feet tall by four feet wide. Everything was good until I bunched it up in the sink full of hot soapy water. I sucked up the whole two gallons or so of the solution, and then, of course, it was too heavy to try to hold it by any edge without it tearing. I finally figured out I could wring out most of the solution, and was smart enough to know not to throw it on the floor flat, as I would never be able to slide it around without tearing it apart (and for some reason tearing it apart didn't seem like a viable solution at the time.) What a wrestling match, it was like hand mopping the floor with a small blanket.

In the second dream I found myself on an island with a number of other players/crash survivors. It didn't take long to get the hang of the controls, as they were the same as real life: walk or run to walk or run, pick things up to look at them or use them.   Everything was the same as real life except for a stat display floating just above eye level, I could concentrate on it to bring it into focus, only there was no actually readable information there. We all were commenting on how real everything felt in this "game" and a couple of us wondered if this was really a game. We got moving and discovered a sealed door of the submarine hatch variety. There were some numbers etched around the rim of the hatch. Someone pointed out that this was just like the TV show "Lost." Those who knew the program found themselves suddenly in high regard.  I instantly regretted not watching the show.

Otherwise I might have known about the large alligator.

I had slipped on a log as we crossed a shallow stream, and a large alligator roared up out of the water. I slammed my hands against the creature's bottom jaw, forcing its mouth closed before it could do so with some of me inside. It then pinned me against the rotting wood. He'd apparently not eaten in some time as he was surprisingly weak, I was able to hold his lower jaw up against his upper and therefore was able to keep my head atop the log where I could breath. "Little help, here?"

"We're trying to figure out how to access our spells and abilities."

"How about hitting it with some big sticks?" I was holding my own, but just barely. The thing might have been a little weaker than me, but it was at least twice my size and with far more pointy bits. I did a quick glance at my head's up display, but it still had nothing useful, other than to turn an amber color when I looked directly at the alligator. I was focusing on staying alive, because I was pretty sure this game was in "hardcore" mode, I heard some of the people complaining about how wet the water felt, or how slimy the mud was. I didn't have a good feeling about my chances with this group.

I hope when I vanished under the water and floated out of the game with my arms wrapped around the alligator's head, the rest of them figured out how to play. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be able to hold my breath longer than the critter.

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Thursday, June 26, 2014

Driving in My Car

I turned up the radio. N had called needing a ride from the border crossing. Not sure why she called me, other than knowing that I wouldn't say no. The crossing was oddly empty of cars on the US side of things. I pulled into the loading zone and N got in the car. Heading home, the border plaza was more crowded. This was one of those dreams where the signs and arrows on the road didn't seem to mean anything but to me. Cars wandered across the concrete expanse in buffalo like herds, with about as much organization. I found myself headed up the wrong way into oncoming traffic at one point and barely managed to get over and turned around without an accident. After much pursed lip complaint from my unhappy passenger, I finally got the routes sorted out and drove N home.

Her new home was quite the luxury affair, multiple large TV's, comfy couches, rich thick carpets, heavy elegant drapes. I was surprised she didn't just call a cab, but looking around couldn't see anything that really looked like N in the rooms. We sat on the couch for a bit, chit chatting. eventually she leaned into me and we cuddled. I was pleased that she no longer stank of weed ash, I was thinking perhaps she'd completely re-invented herself this time. We sat enjoying one another's warmth until the large screen TV popped to life, showing a bunch of squealing bikini clad volleyball players romping around in slow motion. From the cinematography and hair styles (and high legged bikini bottoms) I could tell the film was shot in the late seventies. I was able to ignore the TV after the initial onslaught (a 'bird in the hand' and all of that.) N, however, was disturbed by it, though strangely hesitant about doing anything about it. That is, until the bikini tops started flying off. She got up and headed deeper into the house with a purpose. I hesitated a split second before I followed her, enjoying the fact that the producers hadn't hired a bunch of silicone injected models for their shoot, and realized that was a later development. I hurried after N, expecting her to be looking for a remote, I wanted to ask "why not just power it down manually" without worrying about...

We entered a small den, where there was a young man playing on a computer. N asked, politely, if he could turn off the TV in the front room. His answer was simply "no" and a sarcastic smile. N was surprisingly meek about that answer.

N led me outside the house, confessing that she had not exactly been truthful with me about where she lived.

I made the mistake of saying "that's not really a surprise."

She said "you don't have to be an asshole about it."

I realized that was exactly what my comment was, and she was right; I didn't have to be a jerk. At the same time, she had been lying to me, and I really hadn't been surprised.

I walked her around the side of the big house to a much smaller glass-fronted building. She made me stop at the door so I said good night. I walked around to the floor to ceiling windows and looked in at her apartment, pretty much a single room with a bathroom next to the kitchen and a set of screens blocking the area of the walk-in closet. Brightly colored covers hid several pieces of very blocky furniture. I didn't see any sign of cats, and that was sad to me. "Nice fishbowl," I mouthed.

N laughed, but then stepped to her coffee table and picked up a remote, pressed a button; window shades rolled down. She waved goodbye, her lips pressed together in a wrinkled thin line of disapproval.

I really need to work on the sarcasm filter.

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Monday, June 09, 2014

Skuld Says

"The world hangs on a marked thread."

I have the feeling I have dreamed this dream before. (it was more of a hypnopompic hallucination, I was in bed, unable to move and this is what I clearly heard a woman's voice, clear with a Germanic accent, speak from the doorway of the bedroom.)

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