02-09-2013, 12:01 AM
1. A long dream, some people were with a foe, a foe i had to defeat, and i did so, and they all were killed. But this of cource was not the end of it. As the figures faded (like in a game) i did something. the backstory was set in a place like the movie "Scar Face" Early 1980's miami, very authentic, had the characters. I was scar face and the enemy was like "sosa". I didnt want to hurt any of them, but he had them around him like an energy shield, so i was with someone ( ) and we destroyed them all. But all the other people, i kept their forms from fading. I got pulled into another level of the dream (In the moment where i kept them from fading). A research lab, like darpa. They were studying nano paste...ie, artificial life from energy that could repair and be formed into living or non living matter. Rooms and rooms of research. I accessed it, exploring, commenting. Something happened, and i had a breakthrough...all the people in the lab, and the lab itself, and me, were made of this nano paste...energy given form. They were trying to figure out how to do what everything was made of...with limited results i couldnt actually share my insight in a way they understood, but found a way to leave a sample. Then i go back to the miami florida setting dream, its the moment i left. I use my hands to stabilize the other figures and revive them, and now that the enemy was removed, they had nothing better to do then be nice, walk along. But they were messed up...one woman was missing part of her lip, another had a bullet hole through the side of the head, etc. Like walking dead. I tried to speak my tongue felt weird...i reached in and scraped my tongue...it was the energy of the words like causing buildup. I look at my hands its the grey paste..i can speak and make it...i have inspiration, and i take some and touch it to the women with torn away lip/face...and it molds and repairs it. It doesnt take allot. So i start fixing everyone up, and then we go to a disco and i dont dance, i read a book. lol.
2. A long dream tuning frequencies. An old style transmitter, maybe shortwave radio. As the dials move, it shows it on an osiliscope. Its transmitting, its strange, it is uning the relaity of the dream but its like with dog whistles...humans have a narrow range they can recognize as such, but its still going into other frequencies. A...observation: Even if one cant "hear" the sound, one can put awareness intot he wave itself, and travel in places directions they can not ever hope to see, but its more esoteric then that. Drema became like a pulstating, living...mass of energy from the pulled back perspective, but inside it became the radio room and a conversation with a man aw we fiddled with the knobs and spoke and spoke into the wave via an old style microphone/hand thing.
3. A dream i choose to see as a game. Like some sci fi First person shooter. A team match, fire the orbital cannon (or stop the other side) It was more complicated the that. ( ) was playing too, he told me the name of the game even but i forgot it. But it was a dream not playing it on a screen. He had some funny commentary about how some people play just spamming the pulses overloading the dream...so he was messing with them (this had a tonal equivelant actually) He was doing something with the cannon....which went up the side of a mountain was huge like a quarter mile in diameter and several miles long...into space almost...some plot point was flipping a bunch of switches to fire it. I said my god how byzantine...i guess it wouldnt be a game if one could just press a button and it works....no there has to be some "reason" for all this vertigo climbing and juming and long corridors and open rooms...so cliche. lol. when the cannon fired, it had pules waves of energy around it and a long long burst like a minute. It was epic awesome and blueish colored energy.
4. Back to the nano paste. There was a black woman in the research lab. For some reason i thought she was ( )...but not. I had some paste on my hand i touched her forehead...and then she was a white woman with slightly curly blonde hair. She was excited at first, but soon, we got into a long conversation. She was fine being black, thats what she settled on...related to and with in context. Why does she have to be white? or be "dressed in other then the bag like poncho she had with a strange hood with leaves on it. Surely it helped the people giving the stink eye to see better, cause one little blemish or something not to their expectation they judge and such, but surely that was about them and for their benefit." So...i didnt know what to say, all good points. I said. "But i had no image of what you should look like, surely it would not be this, id think it would be like real you? I didnt do anything with the paste...you did....i just touched your head She said hmmm...well in that case, it interesting and cool. lol. (becasue it="it" looked="looked" like="like" a="a" character="character" called="called" dr="dr" cher="cher" from="from" show="show")
5. A city, a vast city, but its under a roof, a multilevel mesh shaped like a skylight. Like a whole city and sorounding country were on a table top. The mesh filtered "rain". I live in the city. But its too rough for me now i think....or worn. I want to leave. Something like with the wave of the radio unfolds. It builds a tube, tubes, that connect to suns, and planets, all rotating, in energy, planets are positions, worlds, like the city and nation on the "table". Im working on it. A old lady comes and watches. She says..."this is what you (people) always do. Too much darkness or sadness creeps in, crime, and you pack up and move to a new "ball". "white flight" she calls it. You make a new ball, instead of cleaning up the one your in. And why did you paint your friend golden? (I didnt!) As if that means anything...no it only means something to the "white flight" types who left long ago leaving this web, where are they, what are they? nothing...cut off...alll the "power" of "life" comes from the "roots" of this structure, not the branches White flight They dont like blemishes either, she says, they paint it all their (perception) pretty paint on a fading husk....perfect little flowers, pedals carried away on the wind...and the gnarly old tree structure endures, even grows. (old she="she" made="made" a="a" reference="reference" to="to" wolfs="wolfs" rain="rain" here="here" nobles="nobles" and="and") then she let up on me... she knew i didnt try and paint anyone the color i wanted them...she was making a point. And it was kind of me to share my "nano paste" and reform the wayward followers she said...again, they wouldnt waste such power on that...i should just keep in mind the fate of a perfect blossom on a branch...it gets plucked! Or harvested, and the pedals fade away in the wind. Cherry blossoms are neat, in the wind, but its the death of the flower, making room for the substantial fruit to come...consider it....and you will, she laughed, you are way to "gnarled" to be picked for your perfection. It was funny but i was only weakly chuckling.
6. A hunter. A griseled old hunter. It was the guy who had the dog blue from the anime "Wolfs rain". shooting wolves. Well, they were eating a family, so it was unpleasent but...ehh. Even people shoot other people who do that...but it was sad, and i was hoping i wasnt furry....hehe. But then, their is like a small wolf...and their is a little boy who looks like a picture of my dad when he was five...i am looking through the hunters shooting scope with his eyes. Its a nice puppy, and my dad is smiling...tenatively...touching it and retreating and smiling, and the pup yaps and plays. their is an older man with child dad. I see the hunter thinking about shooting. I say...you arent considering pulling the trigger are you!? He says yes...in the end its all the same with weariness...but he says...but i will not (it would make you sad was he unspoken part). Im looking hard at him. If he cared so much for predetors and prey, why does he not "help"? He watched people get eaten, and just took note like noting a crime...to justify his shooting...he didnt really seem to care...but it was odd, more things going on. And why was he showing me? He seemed tired, not bad.
2. A long dream tuning frequencies. An old style transmitter, maybe shortwave radio. As the dials move, it shows it on an osiliscope. Its transmitting, its strange, it is uning the relaity of the dream but its like with dog whistles...humans have a narrow range they can recognize as such, but its still going into other frequencies. A...observation: Even if one cant "hear" the sound, one can put awareness intot he wave itself, and travel in places directions they can not ever hope to see, but its more esoteric then that. Drema became like a pulstating, living...mass of energy from the pulled back perspective, but inside it became the radio room and a conversation with a man aw we fiddled with the knobs and spoke and spoke into the wave via an old style microphone/hand thing.
3. A dream i choose to see as a game. Like some sci fi First person shooter. A team match, fire the orbital cannon (or stop the other side) It was more complicated the that. ( ) was playing too, he told me the name of the game even but i forgot it. But it was a dream not playing it on a screen. He had some funny commentary about how some people play just spamming the pulses overloading the dream...so he was messing with them (this had a tonal equivelant actually) He was doing something with the cannon....which went up the side of a mountain was huge like a quarter mile in diameter and several miles long...into space almost...some plot point was flipping a bunch of switches to fire it. I said my god how byzantine...i guess it wouldnt be a game if one could just press a button and it works....no there has to be some "reason" for all this vertigo climbing and juming and long corridors and open rooms...so cliche. lol. when the cannon fired, it had pules waves of energy around it and a long long burst like a minute. It was epic awesome and blueish colored energy.
4. Back to the nano paste. There was a black woman in the research lab. For some reason i thought she was ( )...but not. I had some paste on my hand i touched her forehead...and then she was a white woman with slightly curly blonde hair. She was excited at first, but soon, we got into a long conversation. She was fine being black, thats what she settled on...related to and with in context. Why does she have to be white? or be "dressed in other then the bag like poncho she had with a strange hood with leaves on it. Surely it helped the people giving the stink eye to see better, cause one little blemish or something not to their expectation they judge and such, but surely that was about them and for their benefit." So...i didnt know what to say, all good points. I said. "But i had no image of what you should look like, surely it would not be this, id think it would be like real you? I didnt do anything with the paste...you did....i just touched your head She said hmmm...well in that case, it interesting and cool. lol. (becasue it="it" looked="looked" like="like" a="a" character="character" called="called" dr="dr" cher="cher" from="from" show="show")
5. A city, a vast city, but its under a roof, a multilevel mesh shaped like a skylight. Like a whole city and sorounding country were on a table top. The mesh filtered "rain". I live in the city. But its too rough for me now i think....or worn. I want to leave. Something like with the wave of the radio unfolds. It builds a tube, tubes, that connect to suns, and planets, all rotating, in energy, planets are positions, worlds, like the city and nation on the "table". Im working on it. A old lady comes and watches. She says..."this is what you (people) always do. Too much darkness or sadness creeps in, crime, and you pack up and move to a new "ball". "white flight" she calls it. You make a new ball, instead of cleaning up the one your in. And why did you paint your friend golden? (I didnt!) As if that means anything...no it only means something to the "white flight" types who left long ago leaving this web, where are they, what are they? nothing...cut off...alll the "power" of "life" comes from the "roots" of this structure, not the branches White flight They dont like blemishes either, she says, they paint it all their (perception) pretty paint on a fading husk....perfect little flowers, pedals carried away on the wind...and the gnarly old tree structure endures, even grows. (old she="she" made="made" a="a" reference="reference" to="to" wolfs="wolfs" rain="rain" here="here" nobles="nobles" and="and") then she let up on me... she knew i didnt try and paint anyone the color i wanted them...she was making a point. And it was kind of me to share my "nano paste" and reform the wayward followers she said...again, they wouldnt waste such power on that...i should just keep in mind the fate of a perfect blossom on a branch...it gets plucked! Or harvested, and the pedals fade away in the wind. Cherry blossoms are neat, in the wind, but its the death of the flower, making room for the substantial fruit to come...consider it....and you will, she laughed, you are way to "gnarled" to be picked for your perfection. It was funny but i was only weakly chuckling.
6. A hunter. A griseled old hunter. It was the guy who had the dog blue from the anime "Wolfs rain". shooting wolves. Well, they were eating a family, so it was unpleasent but...ehh. Even people shoot other people who do that...but it was sad, and i was hoping i wasnt furry....hehe. But then, their is like a small wolf...and their is a little boy who looks like a picture of my dad when he was five...i am looking through the hunters shooting scope with his eyes. Its a nice puppy, and my dad is smiling...tenatively...touching it and retreating and smiling, and the pup yaps and plays. their is an older man with child dad. I see the hunter thinking about shooting. I say...you arent considering pulling the trigger are you!? He says yes...in the end its all the same with weariness...but he says...but i will not (it would make you sad was he unspoken part). Im looking hard at him. If he cared so much for predetors and prey, why does he not "help"? He watched people get eaten, and just took note like noting a crime...to justify his shooting...he didnt really seem to care...but it was odd, more things going on. And why was he showing me? He seemed tired, not bad.