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Driver 8's Dream Journal

post #1 of 7
Thread Starter 

I like sharing my dreams and have been using the diary thread to do so on and off for awhile now.  Now I'll use this thread for reasons.

 

Feel free to post yours as well?

 


 

My roommate and I were in a bedroom with marble walls and a panoramic window overlooking a waterfall.  From the view outside it seemed as though the whole room was being suspended off the side of a cliff and, from the way this all seemed typical, I'm fairly sure it was my own home. 

 

Between the window and I was a shoddy looking table with my Eddie Current amps and various, poorly sorted, collections of tubes for them.  I found myself freaking out as tubes started rolling off this table and shattering on the floor.  I was not trying to catch them, though, but find a pencil so I may demonstrate the "pencil test" (tapping it with a pencil to hear if gas has escaped) to my roommate, and was worried that all the broken glass might look ghetto after awhile. 

 

"You'd see that it is the pencil if which!" I exclaimed, considering that a complete thought as an unsharpened pencil rolls out from beneath the Balancing Act.  "Ye'et so on me I..." I explained as I started jabbing some 300B I don't actually own with the pencil until the tube shattered.

 

I heard a stream of gas escaping my roommate, like a popped tire, and turned to find that he was standing uncomfortably close to me, motionless.  While he was motionless as a whole, though, I noticed his lips were breathing on their own, drawing air for themselves rather than him.  The same was true of his eyes and nose.  I soon realized that I wasn't looking at one coherent living being, but a collection of different colored algae-like organisms that came together here, in the shape of my roommate, by coincidence.

 

In a brief moment of lucidity, I felt guilty for having created this image and then woke up.


Edited by driver 8 - 8/27/13 at 6:26pm
post #2 of 7
Thread Starter 

My ex-girlfriend and I are downtown when she asks me "which one's the Sear's Tower*?" 

 

To my surprise I find myself unable to intuitively recognize it, so I start checking out buildings one-by-one, going off the fact that it's "really tall, right?"  I stop for a moment at the John Hancock, but, standing at its foot, its height isn't as overwhelming as I'd think the Sear's Tower would be.  When I find the Sear's tower, though, my ex and I start to rise up in order to see its top more clearly.  Once we're a few hundred feet off the ground I can make out Doom demons through the windows, running back and forth, occasionally infighting. 

 

After some time has passed my ex seems to have vanished and a blue-skinned alien is hovering before me.  Its eyes are blood-shot and it has a rift in the center of its forehead, as if it just has skin wrapping around each lobe of its brain.  I can't look away from this rift and feel an urge to stick my hand in it.  Before I can act on that, though, it sticks a tablet in my hand and presents me with a row of nude men sleeping in glass tubes.  I'm to monitor the wavelengths of transmitters it's stuck in their arms and adjust them with the tablet as necessary.  I have no idea what sort of results the alien desires, so I adjust them randomly. 

 

Decreasing the wavelength causes the mens' canines to grow and their bodies to break out in hives and cysts.  Raising it too much gives them lamprey mouths.  After doing this from 9-5 for a few weeks I'm able to turn them all into bat people. 

 

I go to bed every night hoping the acne pills I've bought don't give me arthritis, but also wondering when or if I ever stopped floating as the top of the Sear's Tower still seems pretty close.

 

 

* **** the new name.


Edited by driver 8 - 9/4/13 at 8:55pm
post #3 of 7
Thread Starter 

(These are all from the other night, but I woke up and fell back asleep a lot.  Although I'm posting this kinda late, I did take notes on my phone immediately after having it.)

 

New! Cavestory has a really gritty backstory wherein you see how all of Quote and Curly's fellow robot soldiers were brutally murdered and devoured by Balrong and a bunch of purple butes.  I know something's wrong with this, but mom thinks it's all normal. 

 

"Is this the Wii U?" mom asks. 

 

"No mom, it's どくつものがたり on the, uh... TV."  Christ, she doesn't know **** about video games!

 

I don't remember Quote being muscular.  Is that what's wrong with all this?

 


 

"Mom, I like playing spider web chess with you, but I wish you'd tell Shirley ****** to **** off.  She just stands there, motionless, but always facing me.  She's been there so long I can't remember what this room likes without her.  She never blinks.  I'm afraid to touch her."

 

Mom ignores me to go get the door; it's another Shirley, except animate, and a bunch of other old women standing guard as she slowly climbs our stairs.  One of her friends has no white in her eyes, just a clear gel.  I hate her and wish they'd finally make that illegal.

 


 

Walking past my old neighborhood highschool (which I never went to, thankfully), I can't help but notice how apprehensive all these teenage girls are.  There's a cool dude wearing a Kickstarter shirt and a crowd of people in yellow shirts is starting to engulf us.  I have to get out, so I do.

 

This bench has no ad, but a cursor I can control with my mind and an ethereal install of Photoshop CS2.  I draw a furry from the cover of some PS2 rhythm game (can't remember the title) ******* a black man in a standard cowgirl position.  I make her interior partially visible so everyone can see her Katsumi custom Fleshlight wrapping around his literal torpedo of a ****. 

 

"Save yourself for Lil B," the ad reads.  I'm proud of this, as if I've just done a tremendous good for the world, but it's far too bright outside to feel anything but sick.

 


 

I love ordering **** off the internet.  In fact, here comes FedEx with my new Third Eye!

 

Third Eye

 

Third Eye may look like a pacifier and a piece of crap in our ads and even worse in person, but why look at it!?

 

Third Eye can be glued to your head or stuck in your mouth.  Watch these kids from the 90's use Third Eye!

 

Wrap your lips around the metal parts of Third Eye and apply a gentle pressure.  No teeth.  Please don't be alarmed if you feel a tingling sensation.

 

The box says Third Eye is 4th dimensional.  All it does is tell you the time via bone conduction, like those ****ty music playing lolipops. 

 

Why is the FedEx guy fixing our sink?  Think he noticed my Third Eye?

 


 

I can't tell which parts of my body were made from sperm or egg; none of it looks like either.  I think I'm being lied to and it's all I can think about on Christmas Eve. 

 

There's the Voyager overhead.  I... think some of it looks like cum?  Why doesn't any part of me look like cum? 

 

Janeway got a sweater for Christmas that was knitted to look like a Starfleet uniform.  Picard got the same thing. 

 

A Borg cube is entering the atmosphere which the Voyager and Enterprise-D are trying to repel it.  Picard has to jettison all the ship's plastic guns and teleport over to the Voyager.  As he enters Janeway is apologizing to what's his name for yelling at him, but Picard tells Janeway to "never doubt her orders."

 

Voyager's lost the battle and the crew are being beamed over to the cube for negotiations (these are New Borg), but are allowed to leave Harry and some nobodies to guard the bridge. 

 

Days later Harry's team is growing restless.  The bridge is foggy and the crew's being stalked by a Black Lodge spirit none of them can see (he looked like a mix between Bob and my friend's dad {short white hair}) or hear.  The spirit routinely screams into their deaf ears and then pounces on them, feeding off their momentary sensations of fear before they forget the incident entirely.  For just a moment, though, a female version of Harry can see the spirit and offers him Third Eye.  He scratches her face, throwing blood across the room and leaving her with four scars across the cheek, which she'll just barely notice hours later, when boy-Harry asks about them.  She says she "just fell, is all" and, deep down, wishes she knew whether or not she was lying.


Edited by driver 8 - 9/19/13 at 12:39pm
post #4 of 7
Thread Starter 

"I just want you to write what you know and give it to me on three sheets of paper.  One sheet of paper will have that image in your head, right now, of the clown drawing I asked for," Dr. C**** tells our class.  I have been trying to draw this clown ever since he said the exact same thing some time before now and I couldn't do it because I can't draw.  I know this drawing will be the hardest part of the assignment for me. 

 

"I would like you to give this to the man I'm sleeping with," Ch******* tells me, handing me a purse. 

 

"What if I just take it?"  Without hearing her answer I open the bag to find 3 different versions of the Centrance DACport.  The DACport is an amazing classroom tool I can use to answer questions I don't know by turning the volume knob.  Sometimes I use it to answer questions I know too, when I just don't feel like speaking.  My DACport is the only one with a volume knob.  Ch******* is very jealous of this and has dirt underneath her nails. 

 

Later on, in Mr. He****'s class, I can't pay attention to a damn thing he's saying as I look at all his pets. 

 

"Eric, are you listening to me?"

 

"No."

 

"See me after class."

 

"Eric, I can tell you really love animals.  Would you like to look at my animals?"

 

"Alright Mr. He****," I say well after starting to do such.  The professor has some feeder fish in a tank on top of his supply cabinet and a single tadpole in another tank.  To the right of his desk I find a merdog, a tank with a few sturgeons, and a cage with a strange primate I've never seen before.

 

It turns out the merdog was actually a normal dog who likes to swim; the fish tail I saw was an optical illusion.  This normal dog has bitten down on my hand, but it doesn't hurt.  We play tug-of-war for awhile, as if my hand is a knotted rope.

 

Mr. He**** commends me on my dancing ability and tells me to "leave now, but don't forget your writing assignment."

 

As I start packing my things up some papers fall out of a notebook.  One of them is a drawing of my youngest cousin, in the exact same pose as the clown from the drawing I need to complete.  I know my cousin is in pain all the time, and I would like to write two pages about that for the rest of my assignment.  If need be, I'll grab my professor and hold his head close to the paper as I meticulously draw every single nerve ending in cousin's right arm, forcing us to acknowledge each and every one with all sensibility pain demands of her.  I will not take any breaks from this because she gets none herself and, by the time this drawing is done, its sheer density will make it appear as a complete arm, its true nature only known to those who sat through the entire drawing process.  This is an act of love. 

 


 

Brooklyn Blue is in everything nowadays.

 

Brooklyn Blue is a mass-produced robot.

 

Brooklyn Blue is a product I've ordered.  The basic model doesn't come with legs, though, and the mechanical tail she uses to inchworm across the floor is razor sharp and dangerously close to where my "boys" would be swinging around.  I'm too lazy to try and get a refund.


Edited by driver 8 - 9/21/13 at 5:15pm
post #5 of 7

Driver, what do you use to "record" your dreams?  It's not all mental recollection right?  Do you talk in your dreams - thus voice recording them as well?


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post #6 of 7
Thread Starter 

No one's ever told me I talk in my sleep, so as far as I know I don't.  I usually just go over the details in my head several times after waking up and then, if need be, I text myself certain details.  The texts are usually just little hints and reminders and what you see here is me elaborating on them, usually in present-tense since I like the tone it creates.  I tend to leave out weird details and incongruous things to save time, and omit weird sexual stuff for all sorts of reasons, but all that's usually there too.  I've had a great interest in dreams my whole life so I think I just kinda trained myself to remember them more easily at some point, but even then there are stretches of time where I just won't remember any or they'll all be samey/boring. 

 

Also, sorry I haven't updated this in a long time.  My dreams haven't been that good and, when they have, I've just not been in the mood to sit down and type them out.  I had one recently wherein my roommate was jamming to Cotton Eyed Joe on the backporch and then bought us a strange bear cub.  I might type that out sometime soonish, but not tonight because I'm really tired. 


Edited by driver 8 - 12/3/13 at 7:33pm
post #7 of 7

Hmm, I'd be curious to know if you actually say anything in your sleep... and whether that correlates with your recollections.  There are voice recording phone apps that be set to record sounds above a certain dB.  Might be interesting to give one of those a try perhaps?  :smile:


Home of the Liquid Carbon, Liquid Crimson, Liquid Glass, Liquid Gold and
Liquid Lightning headphone amplifiers... and the upcoming Liquid Spark!

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