bunsen_h: (Popperi)
I've been dreaming a lot lately, apparently a side effect of a new medication. Frequently it's leaving me very tired in the morning; I'm getting the impression that I'm not getting much deep sleep. The dreams are sometimes entertaining, in their own special way, but sometimes tedious. Spending a long time trying to sort through a big bundle of old shoelaces, for example, trying to find a matching pair that would fit my running shoes. But it wasn't enough to "bore myself awake"... unfortunately.

Last night, I was a lead actor in an SF comedy show, Star Wars evil-galactic-empire style.  I was the Darth Vader equivalent.  The show's focus was on the bumbling evil imperials, and every week they were defeated by their antagonists.  It was a very odd inversion of tropes.


Jan. 11th, 2015 01:23 pm
bunsen_h: (Popperi)
It's been more than 20 years since I attended university.  Why am I still dreaming about sitting exams for courses I haven't taken?

Granted, it was an interesting exam.  Here's a topographic map; shade in the areas that are "amber" category.  Here's a little diorama of various means of transportation; describe the load limits and driver requirements of each.  It was probably an interesting geography course, some kind of first-year thing for general students.

But I am a bit tired of having to write things along the lines of "Look, I'm really sorry about this exam; I know I'm going to do embarassingly badly.  I've been really ill and I haven't been able to go to any of the lectures or do any of the course work.  I know that I have missed the deadline for withdrawing from the course, but is there any way to keep this off my transcript?  I won't be upset with you if the answer is 'no'."

A few nights ago, it was a mandatory retest of high-school math skills.  At least I knew I was going to do well on that exam, though it was annoying to need to work things out on paper when I knew that once I would have been able to do them in my head.
bunsen_h: (Popperi)
Last night I dreamed I was listening to a Christine Lavin song: "Never Drive To Work Naked (And Don't Forget Your Clothes If You Do)".

I'm sure I'd enjoy it if she ever wrote such a thing.  I suppose I can hang onto the idea in case I ever feel inspired.
bunsen_h: (Popperi)
I've been dreaming about being on B5 for the last couple of nights.  It occurs to me that given the size of that place, it desperately needed some kind of horizontal transportation system other than the shuttle that ran near the axis.  Locations at "ground level" might be as much as a kilometer or so apart, or more.  It's not plausible that people would commute by taking an elevator up to the axis, then back down.

On a separate note: What is the interest rate on sleep debt?  :-(
bunsen_h: (Popperi)
This morning I dreamed of a small-but-thick bar of chocolate.  Milk chocolate with hazel nuts, made by Cadbury of England (i.e. pretty good stuff), and written by John M. Ford.

In the dream I spent a couple of minutes just looking at it... knowing that the chocolate would be smooth but parts would be bitter, and crying because somehow, it really should be given to [livejournal.com profile] elisem.
bunsen_h: (Popperi)
The night before last, I was at the Foglios' for a fannish party — come one, come all, and there were a lot of "all".  One main event was in a large banquet hall: a bingo-style game called "Pick 50".  Players had double-sided bingo-type cards with grids of answers: words, numbers, phrases.  The caller asked riddles, puzzles, cryptic questions, fannish trivia, other trivia.  To mark a space, one had to find an answer on the card which correctly answered a question.

In retrospect, I think it would be too frustrating to play that game, but it could sure keep a lot of people busy for a long time.
bunsen_h: (Default)
I went for a short drive with [livejournal.com profile] mentisiterinvit to where some of our local friends were making a low-budget alien-invasion movie.  As we waited for the production to get underway, it became more and more clear that the film was about the performers in a long-running gay musical revue, with all of their interpersonal conflicts and neuroses, fighting the invaders.  The movie trailer had scraps of musical numbers and long camera pans across ludicrous hi-heeled shoes and high-powered hand weapons and leather corsets and more weapons.

Well, as a movie concept, this dream had more potential for an interesting story than most of the alien-invasion things I've heard about lately.  And it is indeed something that I can imagine my local friends working on.
bunsen_h: (Default)
This morning's dream involved me being repeatedly annoyed by the sounds from the big-screen video game in my bedroom until I finally tried to continue playing the game, by which time the game position was, essentially, too late to do anything but try to salvage the situation.  My inability to remember how to play, and to figure out the instruction booklet — <sarcasm>there's a novel situation in a dream</sarcasm> — just made things worse.

Some kind of extremely-large bright-yellow monster was attacking one of my space bases.  The monster lived in a higher dimension or parallel dimension, so all I could see were the free ends of its many tentacles, like a swarm of elongated blobs moving around within the shell of the space platform.  As each of those blobs was destroyed, the next section of the tentacle would be pulled into our dimension: larger and slower, but taking more damage to destroy.  When enough of the tentacles were gone, the body of the creature would be dragged into our space... with the active bomb it was carrying.  The bomb couldn't be hit without detonating it, destroying the station.

The creature's plan had been to travel through hyperspace to the station, with only the tips of its tentacles "showing" in normal space.  When it was coincident with the station, it would arm the bomb, deposit it inside the station, and then depart through hyperspace.  If I had engaged the creature during its approach, I might have been able to retrieve the inactive bomb and add it to my own arsenal.  By ignoring the game as long as I had, I'd ensured the loss of the station.

I don't play blow-things-up video games; my reflexes and coordination are terrible for that kind of thing, and I only like blowing things up for fun, not for violent purposes.  But this was an interesting game concept.
bunsen_h: (Default)

All day, Jane had been wandering around in a gloom, ever since Mary Poppins had stopped her from making the cupcake full of solid nitroglycerine.  Not actually crying, but depressed, her mouth set in a bit of a frown.

Suddenly, an idea came to Michael.  He found Jane, who just looked at him — she was upset that he hadn't taken her side.

"D'you think..." he started.  "Do you think, if we put fins on it, it would fly?"

After a moment, she smiled, just a bit.

Sometimes the dreams are weird.  And sometimes they wake me up, because... hmm.

An ice-cream cone cup, classic truncated-cone shape.  Filled with meringue with a conical peak.  Three or four fins at the bottom, made of vanilla wafer, glued on with royal icing.  And a type-D model rocket engine inserted through a hole in the bottom.  It would work.  Probably.

"Cake Canaveral".

Edible rocketry.  This is definitely Muppet Labs material.

(Solid nitroglycerine is not very safe, if it's actually crystalline nitro.  When it's solid because it's adsorbed onto an inert material such as clay, that's dynamite, which is somewhat less unsafe; thank you, Mr. Nobel.  What my dream was calling "solid nitroglycerine" was actually some kind of black-powder substance.  It would burn quickly, but not detonate.)

bunsen_h: (Default)
My last dream last night involved a lot of moving around, finding different kinds of Daleks in different areas and/or universes.  Some of the Daleks were primitive: blocky shapes, bright yellow with black "bumps".  Some were sleek and modern, in several different colours.  Some were real, planning to invade other areas.  Some were fake, with humans inside plotting to invade the areas with real Daleks... or other human-controlled areas.  Some were just part of a stage/TV production.

And one... was sleek, white with black "bumps", and wearing a big plush Winslow cultist hat on its head.  In pink and white, instead of green and yellow.

And me without my camera.  I ran around, first trying to find my camera, then trying to find someone who could tell me that its electronics wouldn't be damaged by being zapped over to a different universe.  I finally decided that the Daleks had some pretty fancy electronics and weren't bothered by the transition, so I went ahead and did the jump.  But I never did find the one with the hat again before I woke up.

I would so love to have a picture of that Dalek.

(Sonia Clement, currently being interviewed on Being Jann on CBC Radio, is talking about her twin daughters, Tegan and Sara.  I gather that the daughters are pop stars, though I don't think I've heard of them before.  But... were the parents Dr. Who fans?)


May. 10th, 2011 12:47 pm
bunsen_h: (Default)
Once upon a time, I, Zhuangzi, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was Zhuangzi. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man. Between a man and a butterfly there is necessarily a distinction. The transition is called the transformation of material things.

But now we might not assume that there is necessarily a distinction: we might consider the possibility of a man/butterfly duality.  A single entity that under some conditions manifests as — or has the properties of — a butterfly, and under other conditions as a man.  To quote another great philosopher, "I yam what I yam."

I'm sleeping oddly these days.


Sep. 19th, 2010 10:22 am
bunsen_h: (Default)
I'm walking quickly down the stairs, just going from one floor to another in the house.  At the bottom is a nice polished hardwood floor.  And then my feet go out from under me, I flail, and land with a splat.  Some idiot has painted a rectangular patch of the floor, right in front of the stairs, with a thick coat of white paint.

I'm up, dripping, paint oozing into my clothes and shoes.  I look around: there aren't any signs or other warnings posted.  The painter guy is standing there in coveralls and a cap, and I look at him in angry astonishment.  "I told everyone," he says: what do you want of me?

"Like hell," I say.  "That's obviously not true."

"Okay, not everyone," he says.  Slightly abashed, mostly why-are-you-on-my-case.

I then spend a long time in the dream partially dismantling my running shoes in a sink, trying to wash the paint out of them; there's the smell of latex paint.  I realize that I need to get my clothes soaking in warm water soon if I don't want the paint to set in them.  And at this point I wake up.

And, lying in bed thinking about it: Who comes up with this stuff?  Who would think, even for a moment, of painting a nice hardwood floor with white paint, in an area right in front of a staircase?  Not to mention the lack of warning signs?

My unconscious, that's who.  Thanks, unconscious.

If this was supposed to be some kind of metaphor for the way my life is going, I don't really need that message.


Aug. 23rd, 2010 05:09 pm
bunsen_h: (Default)
I had a weird dream this morning of sitting in front of a Mac-like computer running a program to generate AD&D character stats for a character as described.

Snipped for the benefit of the non-RPG-geeks )

Do current versions of D&D have maximum strength stats which depend on the sex of the character?
bunsen_h: (Default)
A few nights ago, in a used-book store, I found a paperback copy of Madeleine L'Engle's A Color From Space, published by Scholastic as a sequel/companion to A Wrinkle In Time — same slate-blue colour as the Scholastic edition of AWIT and the graphics on the cover were similar. I didn't get a chance to read it, but the inside-cover blurbs were very positive. Unfortunately, I lost it when I woke up.

(One possible source for this was seeing "The Colour Out of Space" mentioned in the Wikipedia article on fictional substances, a few days earlier.)

Last night, in a dream, I managed to find my way to the home of one of my best friends from high school.  (In waking life, it's been years since we even exchanged notes; he's currently living in Vancouver.)  There I found a self-help book of some kind: With All of the Lovers You've Been, It's a Wonder You're Not Someone Else.

What an odd title, inspiring odd reflections.  I've had a number of strong interests — chemistry, science fiction, several kinds of music — which have influenced my life, but it might be a bit much to regard myself as a "lover" of these things.  I've never had much luck with romance; none of the several women I've been strongly attracted to have reciprocated, though if any of them had, I would definitely be "someone else".  (I did like my ex-girlfriend, but the relationship always seemed very awkward.)

The phrase sounds like a couple of lines from a poem or song, and I find it evocative, I'm just not sure of what.  The concept that one can be, or have been, many lovers... it implies multiple aspects or fragments.

I might have understood better if I'd looked inside the book to see what it was trying to say.  Unfortunately, the effort of trying to understand the title woke me up.

(In case you need the reference: Lucien was the librarian in Neil Gaiman's Sandman series, managing the library of books which exist only in dreams.)

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