A Weird Dream (aren’t they all?)


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Weird dream. I’m living on the second floor of this rundown boarding house. My next door neighbor is this porn star who I’ve had problems with — some kind of running feud. She’s living with this dwarf who is self-centered and malevolent. I can often see them having sex on her bed — she leaves her front door open.

The dwarf starts hanging out in my room, making himself at home reading my books and watching my TV. He sits right in front of me, blocking my view of the TV, which enrages me. I pull him and his chair out of the way and shout “I NEVER INVITED YOU TO BE IN MY ROOM!!” He leaves, his feelings hurt, and indignantly complains about me to the porn star.

Everything in my room is in a state of disarray and starting to fall apart. When I go to pull the window shade down the whole thing falls apart. So now people outside on the street can see me. I try to nail the shade back to the wall, but the wood is rotting and I can’t get the nail to stick.

Hate Man shows up. He’s all business. He wants to sell me a pair of mittens for 5 dollars. I tell him I get my mittens at the Dollar Tree for a buck. We go downstairs to the kitchen, Hate Man starts cooking his dinner. I’m in anguish over all the problems I’m having and am hoping for guidance and help from Hate Man. But I can’t find the words to articulate my problems. I stand there with my back to Hate Man hoping for an answer. But he says nothing. Finally as I’m leaving Hate Man cheerfully calls out: “Well if they drop the nuclear bomb and there’s a nuclear holocaust and the whole planet gets wiped out, you won’t have to worry about your problems then.”

I wake up. Lay here thinking about the dream. But none of it really makes sense.

Had the strangest dream last night

The workers at the Ohio State Cartoon Museum, having some fun going through the B.N. Duncan archives.

Had the strangest dream last night. I was walking down this wide hallway in this courthouse, when I spotted my old pal B.N. Duncan. He was walking down the hallway wearing a black Judge robe, alongside the equally robed Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg (how’s THAT for a surreal image).

I sidled up to Duncan and asked him, “Can you talk to me?” (since he’s been dead for 9 years I wasn’t sure he could still communicate with the living).

“Yes I can communicate with you without talking,” said Duncan. And he said this without moving his lips. He was communicating to me with some form of mental telepathy.

I was thrilled and happy to see Duncan again. As well as excited by the prospect that, even though he was dead, I might still be able to communicate with him again on the psychic level.


My main recurring dream

. . . . . . . . .


I had my main recurring dream again last night. I call it my “Curious George” dream, after the mischievous monkey character in the children’s books. And, like in the books, I start out trying to reach some goal, only to, step-by-step, be pushed farther and farther away from my goal. It’s like moving backwards.

The dream starts out with me riding on a BART train trying to get to some place. But I fall asleep and miss my stop and end up at the end of the line. The train is completely deserted except for one person who is sitting in the seat right next to mine. I’m annoyed by this violation of my space, and get up to push him away from me. But I realize it’s not actually a person, but a big bundled sleeping bag that someone had left for me. I guess they saw me sleeping there, realized I was homeless, and left it out of pity.

I get off the BART train, and get into another train that is headed back in the other direction. Then a big group of boisterous, obnoxious high school kids get on the train. I’m hoping they don’t come back to where I’m sitting. But that’s exactly what they do. They surround the area where I’m at. This one young guy — who’s face is peeling from being in the sun too long — gets in my face and starts acting derisive and mocking. He makes fun of my face, which, apparently is very red. Then he tries to stick his hand into my pocket to steal what I got in there. I want to smack the guy, but I have to treat him gingerly because I’m afraid if I get heavy with him, the whole pack of kids will turn on me.

Then the BART train transmogrifies into a Greyhound bus (you know how dreams are) that is barreling down the highway. I start packing up all my bags of stuff to prepare myself for when I reach my destination. Two of my feral cats — Blondie and Mini Scaredy — have also been accompanying me for this whole misadventure. The bus stops at a red light. And, for some reason, I decide to get out of the bus for a moment to take care of some business. But before I can get back on the bus, the bus takes off down the road. I’m chasing after the bus, hollering at the bus driver to stop. But it’s no use. And pretty soon the bus is gone.

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. . . . . . . . . . .. ..

So now I’ve got to figure out some way to contact the bus station, to get all my stuff and my feral cats before they get rid of them. Even worse, I realize I have no clothes on. I’m standing there on the side of the road completely naked. So now I’m really in a jam.

I wander down to the beach by the ocean. A large group of people are hanging out there in their bathing suits. So at least I won’t be too conspicuous in my nakedness — maybe I can pass for a nude beach-goer. I ask one of the men where I am, and he tells me I’m in some town I’ve never heard of. And I’m at least 70 miles away from Berkeley, my destination. He, too, is mocking and derisive towards me, makes fun of my red face. I realize these people will be no help. So I head off down the road trying to figure some way out of my predicament.

I come across a big house and sneak in the back door. Nobody seems to be home, so I steal a shirt and pants and head back towards the highway. I suddenly realize I have my cellphone — so for the first time I start to feel hopeful. I can contact help on my cellphone. And I got clothes on. So things are finally looking up. I get to the freeway — I’m thinking of hitching a ride to the next town so I can figure out where I am. But there’s a barrier that separates me from the freeway. So I’m running alongside the freeway, trying to somehow get on it.

And then I woke up.

As I usually do when I have a bad dream, I went right back to sleep. I like to keep dreaming until I finally get a good dream. I ended up sleeping until 2 in the afternoon, when I finally got a good dream. I’m hanging out with Hate Man and the Hate crew down by his garage, eating slices of apple pie. THE END




A dream within a dream within a dream within a dream . . .



I woke up this morning at my campsite and I realized these people were camping right nearby me. They had lugged up these big mattresses and all this other stuff, and it was like they had set up their living room right in the middle of my campsite. I got up and walked down the trail to confront them. “So what are your plans?” I said, coldly. But they just glared back at me, not saying anything. So I knew this was headed towards an ugly confrontation . . . .

But then I woke up and realized I had just been dreaming. But when I looked up, I realized there really were people camping nearby. So I got up and walked down the trail to confront them. “I’ve been camping here for 10 years,” I said, coldly. “We’re just looking for some space,” they said. “Well this space is already taken,” I said. But they just glared back at me, not saying anything. So I knew this was headed towards an ugly confrontation . .

But then I woke up again, and realized I had just been dreaming. But when I looked up, I realized there were still people camping nearby. So I got up and walked down the trail to confront them . .

It was really weird. I repeated the same basic scenerio 4 or 5 times in my dream. Dreaming that these people were camping nearby, but when I confronted them I would wake up and realize I was just dreaming.

FINALLY I actually woke up for real. I looked around and, thankfully, there were no people camping near by. But I got up and walked all the way down the trail just to make sure.

At least I HOPE I really woke up for real this time. I sure don’t want to go through this bullshit all over again.



A dream within a dream within a dream. . .



I remember one of the scarier dreams I had when I was a kid.

I was lying on my bed in my bedroom. And there was a window in my bedroom directly across from my bed. So I fall asleep. And I started to dream. But then I suddenly I woke up from the dream. Somebody was outside in the darkness,  opening up the window to my bedroom. You could walk out to the roof from my bedroom window, and there was some man standing out there. And then the man climbed in through the window, and he started walking towards me, real slow. And right when he was standing right over me, and was about to reach down and grab me!!! I woke up from the dream.

So now I’m lying there on my bed in my bedroom. Sort of shivering from the dream. The nightmare. And I’m staring right at my bedroom window across from me. And the window is wide open and the curtain was flickering in the breeze. . . . And I’m hoping I really woke up from the dream this time.


0325180940~2.jpgDREAM #2
One of the weirder dreams you can have is when you dream that you’re dreaming.

I remember this one night at my campsite I had this really weird dream. Then I woke up the next morning. Got up. Fixed my feral cats their breakfast. Then I packed up my campsite. And headed down the trail.

But then I woke up a second time. Realized the previous stuff had just been a dream

So I got up. Fixed my feral cats their breakfast. Then I packed up my campsite. And headed down the trail.

But as I’m walking down the trail I’m wondering: “Did I really wake up this time? Or am I still dreaming?”








Life is but a dream. And maybe death is waking up from that dream


More depressing blogs from good ole’ Ace Backwords


 I keep thinking about this dream I had a couple months ago.

I’m wandering around in this strange town.  It’s not so much that I’m lost.  There’s nowhere in particular I’m trying to get to.  It’s like there’s NOWHERE in this world where I belong.  No place to get to.  No place for me to alight. My life has no direction or meaning.  So I’m just sort of wandering aimlessly in circles.  Desperately hoping I’ll find something — anything! — that I can connect to around the next street corner.  But I’m getting tireder and tireder.  As I trudge through this zombie twilight zone landscape.  From nowhere to nowhere.  Finally, I just run out of gas.  I don’t have the strength, or the will, to keep going.  To keep enduring the pointless exercise that is my life.  I lie down right there on the sidewalk.  I keep telling myself, I’ve got to get up.  I’ve got to keep going.  Keep searching for a better place.  I can’t just lie here on the sidewalk.  But I’ve run out of gas.  I can’t rouse myself to keep striving to go on.

Then I woke up.  I was kind of stunned by the dream.  Like it was a premonition of my death.  And how I’ll die.