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Dominant color(s): Warm browns of the wooden dorm room.

Dominant feeling: Envious, Longing

Perspective: My own

Reality Check: College, guitar, my feelings.

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I had another one of those dreams where I continued off of a point where I woke up, thinking that I was still awake.

It apparently was just a tiny break in sleep, because I noticed it was bright outside (probably morning, which would explain why I slept in so late), however the clock said 3:00 AM. I sat in bed trying to figure out why this was, and then came up with some vague explanation in my head about daylight savings time.

I figured I’d get up now because I had to prepare. Today was a big day; I was going off to college. I got up and packed all this stuff (I guess I was going to dorm), and was ready to go. Nobody was home, so I couldn’t say goodbye or anything, and drove for miles and miles. It was night-time by the time I’d arrived (although the clock only said 3:00 PM, strange), and there were some friends I’d known from a long time ago that were going to be dorming with me.

These friends of mine didn’t recognize me though, which I just assumed was because of all the years of being apart. I tried to reacquaint myself, but they were disinterested and didn’t want anything to do with me. It bummed me out, but I’d figured there’d be plenty of other people to relate with there. We went to bed (it was like a friggin’ boarding school, there were 60-some students sleeping in bunkbeds in this warm-colored wooden room, and a bed-time was strictly enforced.)

The next day I took a tour of the campus with the other students in my dorm, and then looked at the classes I was to be taking. None of them were classes that I’d signed up for, and they were all very difficult courses that I wasn’t even close to prepared for.

I was really worried that this was going to end up being a horrible experience and I’d have to drop out, wasting all the money that got me here. I went back to the dorm and laid in my bed for a while. The guy in the bunk next to me introduced himself randomly. I think his name was Charles or something, but I don’t really remember. He was an interesting guy, very intellectual and had a good sense of humor. I liked talking with Charles, and for awhile I wasn’t worried anymore.

That night there was a loud explosion outside. We looked out the window to see that the ground had been ripped apart from something that was traveling through a flexible tube. It was moving with such force, and was so large, that it distended the pipe and tore the earth around it up into the air. Everyone looked excited, but I was very confused.

Charles explained that the presents had arrived. I looked out the window again to see a stream of bulges moving through the tube and ending in the wall of the building that was our dorm. I questioned him further, and he explained that upon arriving at the college, each student received a gift (the source was not explained) that would be their most precious possession. The presents were never wrong; each student adored their gifts and depending on what they were, sometimes enjoyed them for the rest of their lives.

After this I was very excited to see my gift. I glanced at some of the other students in the front of a now gathering line, and had a good look at what they’d received. Some of them got small things, like baseballs or hairbrushes. Others got more peculiar things, like pottery or rolls of carpet. I remember somebody getting a katana, but I wasn’t interested; I wanted my gift. I was so curious as to what it would be.

There was a “glug” sound in the pipe and the flow of presents stopped. People stared stupidly for a moment, and then there was a slight pop, and a very large wrapped case came through labeled “James Nail.”

I was very excited, so I picked it up and brought it over to my bed. I unwrapped it, and recognized the object to be a guitar case. I opened it, and ran my fingers across the wood. It had a perfectly carved rounded spruce top with a fancy metallic tail-piece. The back and the body were made of an aged mahogany, and the neck was made of polished ebony. There was a stunning rosette around the soundhole, that stood out as very peculiar as it wasn’t woven or layered. It was made as more of a figure; of ebony as well, and it made very interesting decorative shapes. It was embedded into the top seamlessly.

This guitar was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. I loved it, and there was nothing in the world that could tear me from it, or at least that’s what I felt at that time. I tuned it up and got ready to play it, when I realized that I couldn’t. I couldn’t play the guitar; I mean I’d practiced a little and could play a few songs nobody had heard of by folky finger-style guitarists, but that was it. I sat there, ready to play with nothing to play.

I noticed then that everyone was gathered around me waiting expectantly. They all seemed to admire my gift, and assumed that because of it I was some hot-shit guitar player. After a few apologetic glances from me, the group dissipated disappointedly, and I was left alone with a guitar I didn’t know how to play. I felt heartbroken.

Charles came back with what looked like his own guitar case. He just had a modest smile on his face, looking happy, but not too delighted. He opened the case, and pulled out a spectacular cello. Its beauty rivaled my guitar; no, it was even more beautiful, and all Charles did was smile. After a moment of silence, he took out a bow and started playing a slow flowing medley. It went on for hours, for days, for years; this song that was more beautiful still than the instrument that it was being played on. Those notes, they came from his heart; it was no written piece, it was Charles playing how he felt about his gift. His tone was perfect, and he kept his flowing rhythm flawlessly, although there was some ruboto here and there. He was the cello, and the cello was him. He spoke to me, but without words. He spoke to me fluently, and I could not understand him. I could not imagine what it must be like to have that experience. I could not begin to dream about the level of expression that he generated from his beautiful instrument.

I dropped onto my bed, and listened to the beautiful cello. I felt broken, like a limp corpse. I felt like I had no purpose, and that I might never get up. I felt like that for a long time, and then I woke up.

 

My thoughts: I'm thinking this dream was a dump from my subconscious about how I feel about my own abilities.

Strongest memory: My guitar, and Charles's song.

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Dominant color(s): White and Blue

Dominant feeling: Apathy

Perspective: My own

Reality Check: NONE. NOTHING AT ALL. The wraith was from Halo though.

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Soo... yeah, sorry first of all for the non-updateness. My dreams have either been shitty or really hard to remember the last couple of days, with a combination of me just being plain lazy.

AANYWAY, I was at this party or something. There were LOTS of people out in the open and I was chilling out with these other cool people under a a little tent made out of one of those crappy blue tarp things. There were only like, 4 other people in the tent and we were talking about crap and having fun. Whatever.

So like, in the background, on this hill, there was a wraith. Yeah, a wraith, one of those cool tank vehicles in that Halo game for Xbox; it shoots large balls of blue energy that move slowly in the air and drop down like artillery bombs. And it was SHOOTING AT US!

So like, occasionally, there'd be some asshole who was talking outside the tent and then he'd just randomly blow up into flames in an explosion caused by one of these plasma bomb things. Whenever it happened, everyone (including myself) would just laugh at that person's misfortune/stupidity and shrug it off like nothing.

Then Tim, the asshole, poked his head out of the tarp and waved at the wraith. I grabbed him by the collar and was like "TIM! WHAT THE HELL MAN?! YOU IDIOT!" and he was all like "Psshhhh what? The wraith's not gonna hit us, we're under a tarp!" and I'm like "oh".

So yeah, we keep talking when BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM FIRE EXPLOSION HOLY FUCK IT BURNS THE PAIN EVERYONE'S DEAD! except for me, because I was clever and walked away from the tent before it blew up. I laughed and looked at the wraith. The wraith looked at me. Oh crap!

So everyone's watching me and getting ready for me to be blown up by this wraith, when it fires. Oh crap! It's coming right for me! Clever me though, I side-step out of the way. It shoots again. I move out of the way. People stop watching and I relax knowing that if I just spend the rest of my life side-stepping and never let my guard down, I will not die.

Then I woke up.

Strongest Memory: Tim being an asshole. Tim doesn't exist, btw.

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Dominant color: Sunset and warm colors, then a very dull white

Dominant feeling: Curiosity

Perspective: Third person and First person unlimited; never my own

Reality Check: Familiarity of neighborhood and the original family was a weird quirk, but everything else was unreal.

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Ok. I barely remember my dream from last night. I remember a very select few parts of it as well as my overall feeling, but it’s hard to piece together.

Aaaanyway, I wasn’t watching myself or anybody I knew, but a family similar to mine. We were in my neighborhood, which I can remember looked exactly like my neighborhood, and we were heading to my house. I shouldn’t say we actually, I should say they, because I was watching from a third person’s perspective.

We were driving and a bunch of crap happened, and suddenly we were lost in a place I didn’t recognize. The mom of the family was driving, and she was looking around without watching the road and hit a little kid. The kid turned out to be fine, but everyone was freaking out and the parents came up and were like “meh it’s ok he’s fine”.

The kid’s nose was missing; it looked like somebody had photoshopped it away, like a blank patch of skin. It was apparently “swollen”. Whatever.

A bunch of other stuff happened.

The family was staying with the family who’s kid was hit, and then I took a first person perspective of random people. From one of the kid’s perspectives, I was watching this grandma clean the carpet, and her method of making it clean was to use windex and wipe a lemon-flavored tic tac on the ground with a rag. I thought it was amazingly clever.

More stuff happened that I can’t remember.

The atmosphere turned to a very dull monochromatic beige color with a sandy texture; kind of like a very barren desert with little sunlight. It turned out that this family was a group of murderers! Who knew? Well I didn’t, not until I took the perspective of one of the family members. Then there were like, slithering vines of sand that were about to attack somebody (and I guess I took their perspective to figure that out), but like, just before they attacked everybody dissipated into white sand. I woke up.

I’ve had pretty rotten dreams since I started this dream journal.

Revamped my old Xanga, and I took the liberty of deleting my old entries... that crap's just embarrassing. I'm gonna be using this as a dream journal from now on, and I'm going to try my best to get an entry in after I wake up every day, if I can remember my dream enough to report it. I'll fancy up the site later with decorations and themes too.

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Dominant color: Dark browns in the distance and the ceiling

Dominant feeling: A rushed and eager competitiveness

Perspective: My own

Reality Check: Unreal, but realistic enough to be from my own perspective

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It’s pretty fuzzy, I can’t remember very much about it… but I was at the Mission Viejo Library. It was sooo not a library though; it was like more of a warehouse store inside of a library. I was doing something for school, and I remember a few scenes inside of a classroom but can’t remember anything about them.

Anyway, we were supposed to collect anything recyclable inside of the warehouse library, and then throw them into the incinerator (wtf?), and we were supposed to accumulate 4 hours worth of products within the time limit. There was no time limit, and 4 hours wasn’t a measurement of time, it was a measurement of volume, but the first one who hit 4 hours was like, a god. So we went around and tore things off the shelves, and put them in pizza boxes to throw into the incinerator, and I was totally fucking owning everybody. Like seriously, everyone was going “Hoooly crap look at Jay go!” So like, I got my 4 hours worth of recyclables (which consisted of a lot of plywood, concrete, and brownie mix, because it was all apparently recyclable), and it I had it all cleverly crammed into a pizzabox, which I then crammed into another pizza box, and then that one into another one. This made it more efficient, somehow.

When I got to the incinerator, the computer said that I only had 1 hour and 55 minutes worth of recyclables, and I was sooooo pissed. So I went double-time to go and round up another 4 hours worth of crap, and I was STILL beating everyone else, and when I got to the incinerator again it said that cumulatively I only had 3 hours and 50 minutes, so I was pissed. I started yelling at everyone going like, “I got 8 hours worth of trash here! This computer is messing with me!” but nobody believed me, and I rationalized that it had something to do with my ingenious pizzabox efficiency method.

I went to go and collect the last 10 minutes worth of stuff, when I looked at the clock and went “holy crap it’s 11:30”. I woke up and looked at the clock and said “Holy crap I slept in, its 11:30”, and got up.