Something -- some bug or piece of dirt -- had become stuck inside the skin of my upper right arm. I had to find what it was, so I pried inside my skin folds with my left hand fingers.
Unfortunately, instead of finding what I was looking for, I accidentally dislodged an extremely important needle in my right arm that had been implanted by a surgeon months ago. As the needle disconnected from my body and became exposed to the air, it ceased to administer life-sustaining juice into my body, and I became noticeably weaker. Again and again, I tried to stick it back into my arm at various places and angles, but could not seem to find the correct vein.
Realizing that this was an emergency, I quickly phoned the doctor. He said, "Record a video showing what happened to your arm, put it on a floppy disk, and send it to me. Then I'll see what I can do."
I thought this was rather odd, since a video is much too large of a file to store in a floppy disk. Thus I ignored the doctor's request and, instead, went straight to the hospital myself.
Upon arrival, the doctor asked, "Did you record the video on a floppy disk like I asked you to?"
I said, "A video can't fit on a floppy disk."
He said, "Good, so now you know."
I realized that the sadistic doctor had wanted me to record a video, try to put it on a floppy disk, and fail. I got the uncomfortable feeling that this doctor was trying to hurt me instead of help me.
I asked, "Why did you tell me to put it on a floppy disk in the first place?"
"To teach you a lesson."
That the doctor had wanted to teach me a "lesson" before I had even done anything wrong further confirmed my suspicions that this doctor was an evil sadist.
The doctor's assistant pulled out some thick-rimmed glasses from an envelope, and handed them to me. I put them on, and they distorted my vision. I thought they were some sort of "drunk" glasses, so I stumbled around and joked, "haha, I'm drunk."
The doctor's assistant replied, "No, those are not glasses that give you drunk vision. They are actually a diagnostic tool we use to determine if someone is susceptible to a certain type of seizure. If you get a seizure in the next couple of minutes, we'll know you're one of those people."
I walked around for a bit, then gave them back to the assistant. No seizure. The evil doctor, disappointed, got bored and left the room to go work on his other evil deeds, and the assistant started explaining to me how they use the "seizure glasses" to diagnose people.
"If there is a seizure, an emergency will be announced. The course of action following a seizure begins with an announcement as such:
'This is an emergency seizure.
Some doctors will be slow, some will be of service.
Some surgeons will be slow, some will be of service....'"
He explained that during an emergency, some people cannot help having a panic attack. Reading aloud the announcement quells any anger towards certain people who panic and are "slow" to respond to emergencies, thus facilitating quicker cooperation between members of the hospital staff.
While casually listening to the assistant, I began to experience a vague headache, which throbbed and gradually grew more intense. I was feeling so sick, I nearly fell over while trying to lay down. My vision blurred, the lights on the ceiling became nondescript spinning halos. Then, all of a sudden, my body began to spasm violently, and I was experiencing a full-on seizure.
I heard a voice,
"This is an emergency seizure."
I saw, through blurred vision, some people shuffling quickly to attempt to aid me. I noted that my sadistic doctor, who had not yet returned, seemed to be one of the most remarkably "slow" staff members to respond.
"Some doctors will be slow, some will be of service."
Suddenly, I could no longer see the hospital staff. Instead, a large crowd of children were running at me, their faces and hands covered in blood. Gruesome and gory, they ran into the windowed wall, the only thing separating me from them. As they beat at the large plexi-glass windows with their fists, their horribly distorted and bloody faces screamed a silent scream. I lay there helplessly, still experiencing violent spasms. The sturdy windows became equally covered in blood, but did not break.
"Some surgeons will be slow, some will be of service..."
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Sulfur Dioxide in the Stoneridge Mall
For some reason, evil villains (especially little girls) bent on killing me is a common theme in my dreams. As long as you are not yet bored of this theme, I'm sure you'll enjoy the following dream sequence.
Much as I would like to, I don't remember much before the explosion of the sulfur dioxide balloon. I believe I was chronically sick with some sort of fatal illness, and I had entered a store in the
Stoneridge Mall to see a woman who had the antidote to my disease. She must have given me the antidote and saved my life. (It still irks me that I can't remember this section clearly, because the most important and emotional effects of my dream probably took place before the sulfur-dioxide incident that I will now recount.)
After I was cured, I started gazing around the store, looking at the objects on display. There were strange objects ranging from lava-lamps to pulsating balloons, all under a disco light that gave a trance-like feel to the scene.
"What is that?" I asked, pointing to a tall skinny flask on a table with a yellow balloon attached to its opening. The yellow balloon was outlined by a blue force field, but I could see that there was yellow gas inside -- sulfur dioxide, I assumed (later, I googled sulfur dioxide in real life and discovered that it's actually a colorless gas). The balloon repeatedly oscillated in size, inflating and deflating over and over again.
"Just don't pop it," she said without answering my question.
As if on cue, some random oaf in the store went "whoops" and knocked the flask a bit, which disengaged the balloon and released yellow poisonous gas in the air. I quickly ran out of the store while holding my breath. Behind me, no one had yet realized the situation, and the store owner was calmly telling everyone to evacuate the premises.
I found myself on the second floor of the Stoneridge Mall, which overlooks the first floor. I ran for a bit, slowing down because I was sure I'd gotten far enough from the gas for it to have diffused by now.
Unfortunately, more yellow gas starting pouring through the ventilation system of the entire Stoneridge Mall. Somehow, the store owner had decided to gas everyone in the entire building! "Control the vents, and you control the entire building," I mused to myself. I began to run for an exit, but I felt slowed and crippled as the sulfur dioxide entered my body, numbing my senses and slowing me down. As low gravity "dream running" settled in, I could barely run at a walking pace.
Nonetheless, I entered a Macy's-like store at an endpoint of the second-story walkway, and quickly found the closest exit to the outside. I opened the door and stepped into fresh air and bright sunlight -- I was now in a parking lot.
I had barely taken a couple of steps when I saw a boy rounding the corner of the building scootering along on his razor scooter towards the parking lot. My omniscient dreaming sense told me that this boy was an accomplice of the evil villain store owner -- her boyfriend, in fact. There was a tree close to me, but it was too late to run and hide behind that; he would see me for sure. So I simply froze in place and prayed he wouldn't see me.
The evil store owner was right behind him, also on a scooter. For some reason, she was no longer a woman, but now a little girl wearing red. Both the girl and the boy made an inspection of the area without seeing me. When they were satisfied that no one had escaped the gassing, they headed back around the corner of the building from where they came. When she was almost out of view, the little girl decided to look behind her one last time. That's when she saw me.
She started scootering towards me, and I knew she was the type of villain that would never allow for any survivors. There was only one place to run, only one shelter available -- I ran back into the gas-filled mall, and she followed me there.
Fortunately, I found two little kids inside the building who were also victims, running from the gas. The little kids and I braced ourselves for battle against the one evil little girl. She came storming in with a flat silver wrench, and hurled it at me without hesitation. The wrench spun through the air at me, but I ducked and put my hands up, miraculously catching the thrown wrench in my hands.
However, we were no match for the girl in hand-to-hand combat; she simply could not be taken down. At this point, more victims showed up, and now we had a team of about 4 kids plus myself. We surrounded the girl in a circle and assumed our fighting poses, waiting for her to make one mistake.
Eventually she did make a small mistake. She lashed out at one of the kids a bit too slowly, and he grabbed her in the arm. Immediately, another little kid seized this opportunity to grab her other arm. Abruptly, the whole team rushed in to grab her limbs and keep her immobilized, and the battle was over. It was my job to hit her with the wrench and knock her out cold.
I whacked her repeatedly with the silver wrench she had thrown at me, but she simply would not lose consciousness. In fact, even between blows to her head she still struggled against the grip of the four little kids. But I still had to keep hitting her on the head; if she didn't lose consciousness, we'd never get out alive.
Finally, an adult (she seemed like a 40-ish year old mother) walked in on us. "Cut it out," she said, as if this were not an intense battle, but some elementary school skirmish. "Break it up." We refused.
"You don't understand," I told her. "Letting her go would be like letting a murderer loose with a gun in his hands. She's dangerous."
The mother would not be swayed, and eventually the fight really did break up, with the little girl running away to who-knows-where. We were safe now, finally, and I walked into the parking lot again.
My phone vibrated, and I picked it up. It was my dad. "We're worried about you, how come you haven't called us? We have to talk about your behavior and how you ignored all my calls."
"But I was busy fighting that... girl." I protested. Then I asked, "Do you think the sulfer-dioxide will cause any lasting long-term damage?"
My dad responded, "No, sulfur-dioxide shouldn't be your main concern. Remember your disease? It burned through most of the inside of your body, Max."
Much as I would like to, I don't remember much before the explosion of the sulfur dioxide balloon. I believe I was chronically sick with some sort of fatal illness, and I had entered a store in the
Stoneridge Mall to see a woman who had the antidote to my disease. She must have given me the antidote and saved my life. (It still irks me that I can't remember this section clearly, because the most important and emotional effects of my dream probably took place before the sulfur-dioxide incident that I will now recount.)
After I was cured, I started gazing around the store, looking at the objects on display. There were strange objects ranging from lava-lamps to pulsating balloons, all under a disco light that gave a trance-like feel to the scene.
"What is that?" I asked, pointing to a tall skinny flask on a table with a yellow balloon attached to its opening. The yellow balloon was outlined by a blue force field, but I could see that there was yellow gas inside -- sulfur dioxide, I assumed (later, I googled sulfur dioxide in real life and discovered that it's actually a colorless gas). The balloon repeatedly oscillated in size, inflating and deflating over and over again.
"Just don't pop it," she said without answering my question.
As if on cue, some random oaf in the store went "whoops" and knocked the flask a bit, which disengaged the balloon and released yellow poisonous gas in the air. I quickly ran out of the store while holding my breath. Behind me, no one had yet realized the situation, and the store owner was calmly telling everyone to evacuate the premises.
I found myself on the second floor of the Stoneridge Mall, which overlooks the first floor. I ran for a bit, slowing down because I was sure I'd gotten far enough from the gas for it to have diffused by now.
Unfortunately, more yellow gas starting pouring through the ventilation system of the entire Stoneridge Mall. Somehow, the store owner had decided to gas everyone in the entire building! "Control the vents, and you control the entire building," I mused to myself. I began to run for an exit, but I felt slowed and crippled as the sulfur dioxide entered my body, numbing my senses and slowing me down. As low gravity "dream running" settled in, I could barely run at a walking pace.
Nonetheless, I entered a Macy's-like store at an endpoint of the second-story walkway, and quickly found the closest exit to the outside. I opened the door and stepped into fresh air and bright sunlight -- I was now in a parking lot.
I had barely taken a couple of steps when I saw a boy rounding the corner of the building scootering along on his razor scooter towards the parking lot. My omniscient dreaming sense told me that this boy was an accomplice of the evil villain store owner -- her boyfriend, in fact. There was a tree close to me, but it was too late to run and hide behind that; he would see me for sure. So I simply froze in place and prayed he wouldn't see me.
The evil store owner was right behind him, also on a scooter. For some reason, she was no longer a woman, but now a little girl wearing red. Both the girl and the boy made an inspection of the area without seeing me. When they were satisfied that no one had escaped the gassing, they headed back around the corner of the building from where they came. When she was almost out of view, the little girl decided to look behind her one last time. That's when she saw me.
She started scootering towards me, and I knew she was the type of villain that would never allow for any survivors. There was only one place to run, only one shelter available -- I ran back into the gas-filled mall, and she followed me there.
Fortunately, I found two little kids inside the building who were also victims, running from the gas. The little kids and I braced ourselves for battle against the one evil little girl. She came storming in with a flat silver wrench, and hurled it at me without hesitation. The wrench spun through the air at me, but I ducked and put my hands up, miraculously catching the thrown wrench in my hands.
However, we were no match for the girl in hand-to-hand combat; she simply could not be taken down. At this point, more victims showed up, and now we had a team of about 4 kids plus myself. We surrounded the girl in a circle and assumed our fighting poses, waiting for her to make one mistake.
Eventually she did make a small mistake. She lashed out at one of the kids a bit too slowly, and he grabbed her in the arm. Immediately, another little kid seized this opportunity to grab her other arm. Abruptly, the whole team rushed in to grab her limbs and keep her immobilized, and the battle was over. It was my job to hit her with the wrench and knock her out cold.
I whacked her repeatedly with the silver wrench she had thrown at me, but she simply would not lose consciousness. In fact, even between blows to her head she still struggled against the grip of the four little kids. But I still had to keep hitting her on the head; if she didn't lose consciousness, we'd never get out alive.
Finally, an adult (she seemed like a 40-ish year old mother) walked in on us. "Cut it out," she said, as if this were not an intense battle, but some elementary school skirmish. "Break it up." We refused.
"You don't understand," I told her. "Letting her go would be like letting a murderer loose with a gun in his hands. She's dangerous."
The mother would not be swayed, and eventually the fight really did break up, with the little girl running away to who-knows-where. We were safe now, finally, and I walked into the parking lot again.
My phone vibrated, and I picked it up. It was my dad. "We're worried about you, how come you haven't called us? We have to talk about your behavior and how you ignored all my calls."
"But I was busy fighting that... girl." I protested. Then I asked, "Do you think the sulfer-dioxide will cause any lasting long-term damage?"
My dad responded, "No, sulfur-dioxide shouldn't be your main concern. Remember your disease? It burned through most of the inside of your body, Max."
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Quickload Works in Dreams
The first dream
I was with my old high-school buddies, most of them Asian. The only person I distinctly remember being with me is Allen, but there were others as well. All of us were carrying guns; I had one in my right cargo pocket.
Little girls were playing hula, or some other random games, in the courtyard. I sighed. At this rate, we'll never have an opportunity to terminate the target unseen.
Some members of my assassination team started throwing stones at the nearest shop window, as a diversion of attention from our target, who was a man walking away from the courtyard. I thought this was overkill, because the windows almost broke. I proceeded to follow the target, fingering the gun in my pocket for reassurance.
I wondered if what we were doing was morally justified. The one who gave us our assignment had claimed to be an agent of the
Shadow Broker, a mysterious character in a computer game called "Mass Effect." The Shadow Broker buys and sells "secrets." For example, he buys evidence of a murder, or other such shady business, and sells the information to those who desire it, thus making a profit.
In my dream, the shadow broker wasn't satisfied with what he had; he wanted to cause more trouble, make more "secrets" that he could sell. That's why he sent us to kill this guy; then he'd have more interesting information to sell to others. "Information is a commodity," the agent had said. Since our target was a bad guy himself, it would not be too morally reprehensible. Or would it?
After I had stalked my target for quite a while, he started to make small-talk with me. I knew he was only doing it because he suspected I was trying to kill him, and was trying to make me feel sympathy. It was working. I asked him what his name was, and he hesitated a moment before replying "Debbie Walker."
I never did kill the man. I was curious, though, to see whether or not his name was actually Debbie Walker. When I returned home I facebooked the name and found no faces matching that of his. That's how I knew he was lying.
End of first dream.
Second dream:
It was extremely windy outside of our house. The road in front of the house was no longer the pleasant residential 25 mph street; rather, it was a two-lane highway. Booming waves crashed upon the rocks just beyond, and sounds of howling wind and ocean spray filled the air.
A family knocked on my front door, and I opened it. The mother was asking directions to a location, which will now be known as "Location." I closed the door against the wind and yelled to my mother, "How do you get to Location?" She responded with something about Wine Spring City. I opened the front door and relayed that information to the family, and they were grateful.
Soon after, however, the father randomly turned into a zombie. He bit the mother and the son. "This will not do," I thought. Hastily, I reached over to press the "quickload" button on my computer keyboard: F9.
The game loaded back at the beginning of the scene, with the family knocking on my door. Everything proceeded as before; I even hastily told them the directions to Location. But this time, I knew what was going to happen. I called the mother of the family on my cellphone, warning her that her husband will turn into a zombie. As the first symptoms of zombie-ness started to develop in the father, she realized I was telling the truth and began to back away. Realistically, our phone conversation cut off as soon as she started to run.
Alas, the son could not be saved and was bitten by the father. My front door was locked, but there was a big glass window in the middle, through which the father zombie broke. I ran to the kitchen, but the father zombie was right at my heels! I had to get out of the house fast, so I jump-kicked through the glass of the kitchen window.
I continued to run, but for some reason my shorts were down, wrapped around my ankles and hindering my movement. Fortunately I had my trusty sword. I sliced through the center of the shorts around my ankles to allow my legs to move freely. Conveniently, I also slew the father zombie with the sword by slicing his torso in half.
I had climbed over the wooden fence of the backyard to the neighboring house's yard, but the son zombie was in hot pursuit, beginning to climb the fence. Suddenly, as musical notes drifted from the house, I realized that my sister was still placidly practicing piano. I climbed back over the fence into my own backyard and gave myself an upwards boost...
Which proved to be the worst decision I could ever make in a "running from monsters" dream. These dreams are notorious for their extremely low gravity. When I jumped upwards from the fence, my trajectory was in slow motion due to the low gravity of the dream. The son zombie easily covered the horizontal distance of my trajectory and stood at its endpoint, awaiting my inevitable fall to the ground so he could eat me.
"This will not do!" I declared, and I hit F9. I caught a glimpse of the beginning scene at the front door before I woke up.
End of dream #2
This proves that "quickload," a common feature in computer games, works in dreams. "Quicksave," however, has yet to be tried...
[edit] p.s. I forgot to mention the musical accompaniment of the zombie dream, which consisted of a two-chord progression: f minor - a flat minor, with the melody going F - E - E flat (E being the passing tone). If you can't imagine this in your head, please play it on a piano. This short instrumental sound byte (it seemed to be mostly orchestral strings) repeated over and over again in my head during this dream, providing a fittingly creepy sound scape for the zombie dream. Since it was short and simple, I was able to remember it upon waking up.
I have probably had dreams with much more interesting original musical content, but alas, it is much more difficult to remember longer, non-repetitive themes. Usually, any memory of such musical content is not only extremely fragile, but also restricted to the last couple of seconds in the dream. I therefore urge readers of this note to dedicate their life to the discovery of DREAM-RECORDING TECHNOLOGY. Thank you.
I was with my old high-school buddies, most of them Asian. The only person I distinctly remember being with me is Allen, but there were others as well. All of us were carrying guns; I had one in my right cargo pocket.
Little girls were playing hula, or some other random games, in the courtyard. I sighed. At this rate, we'll never have an opportunity to terminate the target unseen.
Some members of my assassination team started throwing stones at the nearest shop window, as a diversion of attention from our target, who was a man walking away from the courtyard. I thought this was overkill, because the windows almost broke. I proceeded to follow the target, fingering the gun in my pocket for reassurance.
I wondered if what we were doing was morally justified. The one who gave us our assignment had claimed to be an agent of the
Shadow Broker, a mysterious character in a computer game called "Mass Effect." The Shadow Broker buys and sells "secrets." For example, he buys evidence of a murder, or other such shady business, and sells the information to those who desire it, thus making a profit.
In my dream, the shadow broker wasn't satisfied with what he had; he wanted to cause more trouble, make more "secrets" that he could sell. That's why he sent us to kill this guy; then he'd have more interesting information to sell to others. "Information is a commodity," the agent had said. Since our target was a bad guy himself, it would not be too morally reprehensible. Or would it?
After I had stalked my target for quite a while, he started to make small-talk with me. I knew he was only doing it because he suspected I was trying to kill him, and was trying to make me feel sympathy. It was working. I asked him what his name was, and he hesitated a moment before replying "Debbie Walker."
I never did kill the man. I was curious, though, to see whether or not his name was actually Debbie Walker. When I returned home I facebooked the name and found no faces matching that of his. That's how I knew he was lying.
End of first dream.
Second dream:
It was extremely windy outside of our house. The road in front of the house was no longer the pleasant residential 25 mph street; rather, it was a two-lane highway. Booming waves crashed upon the rocks just beyond, and sounds of howling wind and ocean spray filled the air.
A family knocked on my front door, and I opened it. The mother was asking directions to a location, which will now be known as "Location." I closed the door against the wind and yelled to my mother, "How do you get to Location?" She responded with something about Wine Spring City. I opened the front door and relayed that information to the family, and they were grateful.
Soon after, however, the father randomly turned into a zombie. He bit the mother and the son. "This will not do," I thought. Hastily, I reached over to press the "quickload" button on my computer keyboard: F9.
The game loaded back at the beginning of the scene, with the family knocking on my door. Everything proceeded as before; I even hastily told them the directions to Location. But this time, I knew what was going to happen. I called the mother of the family on my cellphone, warning her that her husband will turn into a zombie. As the first symptoms of zombie-ness started to develop in the father, she realized I was telling the truth and began to back away. Realistically, our phone conversation cut off as soon as she started to run.
Alas, the son could not be saved and was bitten by the father. My front door was locked, but there was a big glass window in the middle, through which the father zombie broke. I ran to the kitchen, but the father zombie was right at my heels! I had to get out of the house fast, so I jump-kicked through the glass of the kitchen window.
I continued to run, but for some reason my shorts were down, wrapped around my ankles and hindering my movement. Fortunately I had my trusty sword. I sliced through the center of the shorts around my ankles to allow my legs to move freely. Conveniently, I also slew the father zombie with the sword by slicing his torso in half.
I had climbed over the wooden fence of the backyard to the neighboring house's yard, but the son zombie was in hot pursuit, beginning to climb the fence. Suddenly, as musical notes drifted from the house, I realized that my sister was still placidly practicing piano. I climbed back over the fence into my own backyard and gave myself an upwards boost...
Which proved to be the worst decision I could ever make in a "running from monsters" dream. These dreams are notorious for their extremely low gravity. When I jumped upwards from the fence, my trajectory was in slow motion due to the low gravity of the dream. The son zombie easily covered the horizontal distance of my trajectory and stood at its endpoint, awaiting my inevitable fall to the ground so he could eat me.
"This will not do!" I declared, and I hit F9. I caught a glimpse of the beginning scene at the front door before I woke up.
End of dream #2
This proves that "quickload," a common feature in computer games, works in dreams. "Quicksave," however, has yet to be tried...
[edit] p.s. I forgot to mention the musical accompaniment of the zombie dream, which consisted of a two-chord progression: f minor - a flat minor, with the melody going F - E - E flat (E being the passing tone). If you can't imagine this in your head, please play it on a piano. This short instrumental sound byte (it seemed to be mostly orchestral strings) repeated over and over again in my head during this dream, providing a fittingly creepy sound scape for the zombie dream. Since it was short and simple, I was able to remember it upon waking up.
I have probably had dreams with much more interesting original musical content, but alas, it is much more difficult to remember longer, non-repetitive themes. Usually, any memory of such musical content is not only extremely fragile, but also restricted to the last couple of seconds in the dream. I therefore urge readers of this note to dedicate their life to the discovery of DREAM-RECORDING TECHNOLOGY. Thank you.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Holes in his Cheeks
This happened a couple of days before "Marijuana Exhibition," but I forgot to write about it until now.
My friend Alex was eating two lollipops at the same time. Both lollipops were completely in his mouth (even including the stick parts). They were positioned horizontally such that they were poking out and extending his cheeks, making his cheeks look fat and unnatural. Suddenly, he drew both lollipops out of his mouth, simultaneously, from opposite cheeks, through a hole in each of his cheeks. Each "hole" was basically two 0.5cm-long slits in the form of an X, which permitted 4 skin flaps to open up into a hole.
Naturally, I was disgusted, and exclaimed, "dude, what the ****?"
Alex responded nonchalantly, "I have cysts in my mouth, so they did some surgery on my cheeks."
note: this was a dream.
My friend Alex was eating two lollipops at the same time. Both lollipops were completely in his mouth (even including the stick parts). They were positioned horizontally such that they were poking out and extending his cheeks, making his cheeks look fat and unnatural. Suddenly, he drew both lollipops out of his mouth, simultaneously, from opposite cheeks, through a hole in each of his cheeks. Each "hole" was basically two 0.5cm-long slits in the form of an X, which permitted 4 skin flaps to open up into a hole.
Naturally, I was disgusted, and exclaimed, "dude, what the ****?"
Alex responded nonchalantly, "I have cysts in my mouth, so they did some surgery on my cheeks."
note: this was a dream.
Marijuana Exhibition
I was ditching class with some nondescript girl. We were walking side by side in the corridor of an office building. The floor we were on happened to be hosting a marijuana exhibition, in which numerous pot smokers demonstrated the effects of smoking pot in several separate stands distributed at intervals in the hallway. We saw many bizarre pot smokers as we walked through this tour of pot smoking. Some examples were:
1. A man with fire pouring out of his eyes, ears, nostrils and mouth. Note: This did not scare me in the dream (though it does when I think about it now).
2. A man with a set of bars instead of teeth (like Hannibal Lector), whose mouth was on fire. He promptly fainted when we approached him, as if on purpose for dramatic effect.
3. Two young boys playing hip-hop music using strange exotic instruments: one bowed a violin bow across a banjo to create bass tones, while the other used three claw-like appendages to pluck a string, creating the percussive backbeat.
Then, it was time to go to class.
I was in some sort of chemistry class, in a high school classroom setting. When I expressed my fascination at a concept that was being lectured, the entire class turned on me, and one classmate said, "uh, have you been missing the first two weeks of school, or something?"
I said, "yeah, but it's no big deal."
The teacher cheerfully said, "Well, that means he missed out of the black orange juice demonstration. We'll have to do it again, just for him." So she asked me to hand her a bunch of recipe ingredients to place in a blender. One of these was "ravenfrost," a black oily substance that felt weightless in my hands, and turned the entire orange juice mix black. She blended everything together and the finished product was a disgusting black. I knew, however, that the blackness was only deceptively disgusting, and when she poured the orange juice out, it turned from black to orange. The orange juice tasted normal. The supposed "chemistry lesson" involved was that Ravenfrost is a unique substance that is black by defualt, but changes colors when moved about in a certain manner. (note: Raven Frost is a unique ring in Diablo 2)
Then, it was time to go to BART.
I found myself at the Bay Fair station, and I entered the Dublin/Pleasanton train when it approached, because I was on my way home. However, when the train started moving, I saw some scenery I had never seen before. "Feleker's Restaurant?" (I don't remember the exact word, but it started with an F) I said to myself as I gazed outwards, doubtful that this was the real Dublin/Pleasanton train. This train was definitely going the wrong way. I resolved to change trains at the next station, so that I could get back home without too much delay.
The next station was, unfortunately, Disneyland. I say unfortunately, because the line to board the departing train from Disneyland was ludicrously long (just like everything else in Disneyland); I'd have to wait a couple of hours before getting a ride back home. Moreover, Disneyland was the last stop, so I couldn't just keep riding in the same direction until I got to another stop. Peculiarly, the incoming trains all looked like regular BART trains, but the outgoing trains were stylistically red and gold choo-choo trains.
A breakthrough. I saw my family in the line, and they were nearly in the front! I could just cut in with them, and get home quickly after all.
But then, I realized I was actually in the past; I had somehow traveled backwards in time. The memories were all coming back to me now. Days ago, my family and I waited in this exact line, and got on the train. Someone reportedly saw a "ghost" in the back of the train, and then some people took pictures with the ghost. (note: these are fake memories that my dream spontaneously spawned.)
Since I must not tamper with history, I could not afford to let anyone see me. "Ok, activating cloak." I pressed a button on my hand-held device. But no, the button should be made deeper, like a reset button, so I won't accidentally brush my hand on the button and deactivate my cloak. Ah, even better, a button so deep and a shaft so narrow that only my left hand pinky can access it. Yes, ok, that's good, I thought to myself while manipulating this inconsequential detail of my dream.
History began to repeat itself nonetheless. People spotted a shadow of me despite my advanced cloaking device. Despite my near invisibility, people (including my family), took pictures *with* me, as if I were someone dressed up as Mickey Mouse. This was particularly unsettling, so I backed out even further until I was well away from the train. I was now in the woods, where the trees and lack of light concealed me from would-be spectators.
In the woods I spotted some little kids running around and playing by a small (approximately 5 x 10 feet) man-made pond bordered by concrete. They all fell in. The girl and the fat boy quickly climbed out, but the skinny boy was having trouble.
"Well, aren't you going to help him out?" I asked. No response; apparently not. So I ran over and helped him out, and he got out fine.
Then the fat boy randomly fell in the pond again. I helped him out, but he was unconscious since he had hit his head while falling in. As he lay on the dirt I noticed that he had no mouth -- just an odd opening that seemed sewn shut. I fixed this problem by pushing on his stomach, which forced this opening to open into a normal-looking mouth, as he gushed out water and gasped for air. I turned him onto his side, which helped him get air. Then I noticed that he had no nose, and that his face was frighteningly inhuman. This, however, did not scare me very much.
That's all I remember.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
If I Ever Die in my Sleep...
You'll know why.
So last night I dreamt that my house was on fire. Only it didn't look like my house; it resembled the house in the counter-strike map, cs_house. We ran out of the house, but I realized I had to go back in to contain the fire.
So in I ran, and I broke the glass of the fire extinguisher casing, took out the fire extinguisher, and extinguished some fire on the stairs. Then I started looking for the M4A1 Carbine automatic rifle, because I was supposed to "load" it with caskets of fire-extinguisher chemical, just in case I had to defend myself. While looking for my M4A1, however, I became sidetracked.
Downstairs, in a sort of gym, there was an evil girl, about 15 years old, sitting in a chair and hypnotizing a boy of equal age who was standing. I drew my pistol at the evil girl and said "Freeze!" only to have her turn her face and begin her hypnotic powers on me.
Suddenly my point of view shifted; I was now reading the back-cover summary of a book (I had been living the story of the book). I read that the hypnotic girl is impossible to overcome, because she is "irresistible; you know you want her!" My point of view shifted back to the real-world situation, and I found myself again face to face with the evil girl. I noted that she was kind of ugly, and way younger than me; I definitely did not "want" her. However, since I was powerless under her hypnotic stare, I could to nothing.
Then, my heartbeat seemed to increase to the ludicrous rate of 8 times per second. I was familiar with this common "sleep terror" occurrence, so I willed myself -- with all the mental energy I could summon -- to awaken. After about 10 seconds, I woke up (halfway, not fully) and my heart rate returned to normal.
Since I was still very tired, and not even technically awake, I allowed myself to drift back to sleep -- only to be confronted with the same situation/dream that I was in earlier: the "irresistible" hypnotist. Again, I had to force myself to wake up. This oscillating cycle repeated itself for a number of times.
On the final occurrence, I felt, in addition to an increase in heart rate, my entire body spasm for about 5 seconds. My eyes were open during the "seizure," but I could not perform voluntary movements. I became very frightened and thought I might die, but the escape process was relatively straightforward just like before: I mentally willed myself to wake up, and I did.
At this point, I decided that extra sleep was not worth the risk of death, and promptly launched myself out of bed.
So last night I dreamt that my house was on fire. Only it didn't look like my house; it resembled the house in the counter-strike map, cs_house. We ran out of the house, but I realized I had to go back in to contain the fire.
So in I ran, and I broke the glass of the fire extinguisher casing, took out the fire extinguisher, and extinguished some fire on the stairs. Then I started looking for the M4A1 Carbine automatic rifle, because I was supposed to "load" it with caskets of fire-extinguisher chemical, just in case I had to defend myself. While looking for my M4A1, however, I became sidetracked.
Downstairs, in a sort of gym, there was an evil girl, about 15 years old, sitting in a chair and hypnotizing a boy of equal age who was standing. I drew my pistol at the evil girl and said "Freeze!" only to have her turn her face and begin her hypnotic powers on me.
Suddenly my point of view shifted; I was now reading the back-cover summary of a book (I had been living the story of the book). I read that the hypnotic girl is impossible to overcome, because she is "irresistible; you know you want her!" My point of view shifted back to the real-world situation, and I found myself again face to face with the evil girl. I noted that she was kind of ugly, and way younger than me; I definitely did not "want" her. However, since I was powerless under her hypnotic stare, I could to nothing.
Then, my heartbeat seemed to increase to the ludicrous rate of 8 times per second. I was familiar with this common "sleep terror" occurrence, so I willed myself -- with all the mental energy I could summon -- to awaken. After about 10 seconds, I woke up (halfway, not fully) and my heart rate returned to normal.
Since I was still very tired, and not even technically awake, I allowed myself to drift back to sleep -- only to be confronted with the same situation/dream that I was in earlier: the "irresistible" hypnotist. Again, I had to force myself to wake up. This oscillating cycle repeated itself for a number of times.
On the final occurrence, I felt, in addition to an increase in heart rate, my entire body spasm for about 5 seconds. My eyes were open during the "seizure," but I could not perform voluntary movements. I became very frightened and thought I might die, but the escape process was relatively straightforward just like before: I mentally willed myself to wake up, and I did.
At this point, I decided that extra sleep was not worth the risk of death, and promptly launched myself out of bed.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
My first memory is of a man with his gun pointed at me. "Get out," he says. He is alone with me, and we are indoors. He opens the door to the outdoors, revealing a 1,000-ft metal staircase stretching all the way down to the desert sand, and multiple planes and personnel on the ground.
As he starts to descend the tower, I am faced with a decision: Cooperate, or attempt to escape. I observe that he has foolishly walked ahead of me with his back turned towards me, so I choose to escape. I turn around as fast as I can and begin running back up the stairs. Unfortunately, he notices, turns around, and shoots me down with his pistol. I die.
Fortunately I have time travel, similar to the time travel in "Prince of Persia, Sands of Time." I rewind time for 5 seconds. We are once again descending the stairs, and he is in front of me. This time, I push him down the stairs, as hard as I can. As he falls backwards, he fires a couple of shots at me, but none find their target. He crashes down 20 feet of stairs onto a junction point in the stairs (the square platform at which the stairs pivot and to the left and continue downwards). He is gravely injured, but is already attempting to get back up. I hurriedly run back up the stairs, hoping he is too weak to follow me.
I weave through a maze of narrow corridors and rooms, slightly reminiscent of the interior of a cruise ship. During this time I experience dream-running (the sensation of slowed running due to reduced gravity), because I am constantly fearful that the man with the gun is right behind me. I follow the "Exit" signs for a couple minutes and finally find myself outdoors again, but much closer to the ground than before.
A priest and another man appear near the exit I had just come from. I hide myself behind a pillar lest the priest be the gunman in disguise. They walk past me.
I continue walking, at last coming to a small field of grass and some buildings, similar to the area between the B and C buildings of the Amador Valley High School. A couple of family friends are standing and having good-natured conversation. My dad sees me and walks over. I whisper to him, "We have to get out of this place, now! This guy with a gun almost shot me." My mom and sister arrive.
Christine (my sister) says, "Aha, so this time you found dad first, instead of us." I am confused by this remark but give it no further thought.
As my family and I are exiting the scene and climbing some cement stairs, I notice that my dad's white lab coat is slightly torn. Suddenly, of its own volition, the tear increases its length by an inch.
"Why did the hole in Dad's lab coat suddenly get bigger?" I ask.
Christine responds, "Dad's been doing a little time traveling lately, just like the rest of us. Every time he time travels, the tear in his lab coat lengthens ever so slightly."
"So what happens when the tear reaches the bottom of the coat?"
"We don't know."
A random little 5-year-old girl starts singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," with chillingly modified lyrics. She is holding a paper star, and tearing it.
We arrive at what appears to be the second level of a shopping mall. The second level is simply a walkway along the edges of the building (think Stoneridge Mall). There is a safety railing to prevent people from falling off, but it is cheap and resembles the railings one would find at a roller coaster waiting line.
My sister is feeling jubilant, so she tightrope-walks along the safety railing. The ceiling is low enough such that her head can touch it, so she uses the friction between her head and the low ceiling to prevent falling down. Of course, my mother tells her that this is a very dangerous stunt, but she doesn't stop. Suddenly she loses footing and falls over the edge, onto the first floor.
She is shaken but alive. My mom flips out and runs down the stairs angrily, yells at Christine for not listening to her, and drags her back up to the second level. "Why didn't you stop when I told you to? Do you enjoy not listening to us? Do you enjoy ignoring our warnings and hurting yourself? Well fine! If that's what you want!" she screams. Then, out of nowhere, she throws my sister over the edge of the railing.
Christine lands on the first floor yet again, shaken but alive. Now I flip out. "WHAT THE FUCK! What the FUCK is your problem?" I yell at my mom. I march down the stairs dropping F-bombs everywhere, causing a scene. I yell something about the fact that throwing Christine over the railing is not only cruel, but also sets a bad environment for people that come to the mall. People turn their heads and call security, but I ignore them. "Calm down," one security officer says. "NO FUCK YOU TOO!" I yell at him. Then I point at every passerby looking at me and subsequently tell each of them to fuck themselves too. Finally, I arrive at my sister, who is not in the least injured, and we hug.
For some reason I decide to travel back in time again, all the way back to scene 1.
So I'm behind the guy with the gun (again), and he's walking down the stairs. As before, I push him as hard as I can. As before he falls over and hits the platform and misses his shots. But this time, when I run back into the building, I take an alternate exit route: a hatch in the floor leading to a descending ladder. This time my escape route does not take me to the aforementioned "Amador Valley field," but to some indoors area where I meet up with my sister and my mom.
"Aha, so this time, I met up with my mom and sister, before Dad," I observe (recall that in the previous "escape" scene, at the Amador Valley field, I meet up with my Dad first). Then I remember what Christine had remarked to me long ago, in the previous scene:
"Aha, so this time you found dad first, instead of us."
I now realize that in the original scene, Christine already had memories of this alternate parallel universe/timeline. That is to say, Christine in the original timeline had already experienced the very timeline that I am now experiencing.
"You've been doing a LOT of time-traveling, haven't you?" I ask.
"Maybe..." Christine says.
"Why hasn't your dress been tearing, like Dad's lab coat?"
She beams at me.
"What, you won't tell me?" I ask.
She points at her teeth, and I notice that they are just slightly crooked. The flaw is not obvious, but it is slightly noticeable.
"Time travel has a different effect on everyone," she says. "For me, every time I travel backwards in time, my teeth become slightly more crooked."
"Can't we just fix that with braces, then?" I ask.
"I don't think so."
As this alternate timeline continues, my family and I arrive at Disneyland, instead of the cheap shopping mall. And so the dream concludes as we walk down Main Street watching a Mickey Mouse parade, debating whether or not the effects of time-travel on teeth can be remedied by braces.
Lyrics to "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," as sung by the freaky 5-year-old girl holding a paper star:
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
The more you pull the more it tears
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
As he starts to descend the tower, I am faced with a decision: Cooperate, or attempt to escape. I observe that he has foolishly walked ahead of me with his back turned towards me, so I choose to escape. I turn around as fast as I can and begin running back up the stairs. Unfortunately, he notices, turns around, and shoots me down with his pistol. I die.
Fortunately I have time travel, similar to the time travel in "Prince of Persia, Sands of Time." I rewind time for 5 seconds. We are once again descending the stairs, and he is in front of me. This time, I push him down the stairs, as hard as I can. As he falls backwards, he fires a couple of shots at me, but none find their target. He crashes down 20 feet of stairs onto a junction point in the stairs (the square platform at which the stairs pivot and to the left and continue downwards). He is gravely injured, but is already attempting to get back up. I hurriedly run back up the stairs, hoping he is too weak to follow me.
I weave through a maze of narrow corridors and rooms, slightly reminiscent of the interior of a cruise ship. During this time I experience dream-running (the sensation of slowed running due to reduced gravity), because I am constantly fearful that the man with the gun is right behind me. I follow the "Exit" signs for a couple minutes and finally find myself outdoors again, but much closer to the ground than before.
A priest and another man appear near the exit I had just come from. I hide myself behind a pillar lest the priest be the gunman in disguise. They walk past me.
I continue walking, at last coming to a small field of grass and some buildings, similar to the area between the B and C buildings of the Amador Valley High School. A couple of family friends are standing and having good-natured conversation. My dad sees me and walks over. I whisper to him, "We have to get out of this place, now! This guy with a gun almost shot me." My mom and sister arrive.
Christine (my sister) says, "Aha, so this time you found dad first, instead of us." I am confused by this remark but give it no further thought.
As my family and I are exiting the scene and climbing some cement stairs, I notice that my dad's white lab coat is slightly torn. Suddenly, of its own volition, the tear increases its length by an inch.
"Why did the hole in Dad's lab coat suddenly get bigger?" I ask.
Christine responds, "Dad's been doing a little time traveling lately, just like the rest of us. Every time he time travels, the tear in his lab coat lengthens ever so slightly."
"So what happens when the tear reaches the bottom of the coat?"
"We don't know."
A random little 5-year-old girl starts singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," with chillingly modified lyrics. She is holding a paper star, and tearing it.
We arrive at what appears to be the second level of a shopping mall. The second level is simply a walkway along the edges of the building (think Stoneridge Mall). There is a safety railing to prevent people from falling off, but it is cheap and resembles the railings one would find at a roller coaster waiting line.
My sister is feeling jubilant, so she tightrope-walks along the safety railing. The ceiling is low enough such that her head can touch it, so she uses the friction between her head and the low ceiling to prevent falling down. Of course, my mother tells her that this is a very dangerous stunt, but she doesn't stop. Suddenly she loses footing and falls over the edge, onto the first floor.
She is shaken but alive. My mom flips out and runs down the stairs angrily, yells at Christine for not listening to her, and drags her back up to the second level. "Why didn't you stop when I told you to? Do you enjoy not listening to us? Do you enjoy ignoring our warnings and hurting yourself? Well fine! If that's what you want!" she screams. Then, out of nowhere, she throws my sister over the edge of the railing.
Christine lands on the first floor yet again, shaken but alive. Now I flip out. "WHAT THE FUCK! What the FUCK is your problem?" I yell at my mom. I march down the stairs dropping F-bombs everywhere, causing a scene. I yell something about the fact that throwing Christine over the railing is not only cruel, but also sets a bad environment for people that come to the mall. People turn their heads and call security, but I ignore them. "Calm down," one security officer says. "NO FUCK YOU TOO!" I yell at him. Then I point at every passerby looking at me and subsequently tell each of them to fuck themselves too. Finally, I arrive at my sister, who is not in the least injured, and we hug.
For some reason I decide to travel back in time again, all the way back to scene 1.
So I'm behind the guy with the gun (again), and he's walking down the stairs. As before, I push him as hard as I can. As before he falls over and hits the platform and misses his shots. But this time, when I run back into the building, I take an alternate exit route: a hatch in the floor leading to a descending ladder. This time my escape route does not take me to the aforementioned "Amador Valley field," but to some indoors area where I meet up with my sister and my mom.
"Aha, so this time, I met up with my mom and sister, before Dad," I observe (recall that in the previous "escape" scene, at the Amador Valley field, I meet up with my Dad first). Then I remember what Christine had remarked to me long ago, in the previous scene:
"Aha, so this time you found dad first, instead of us."
I now realize that in the original scene, Christine already had memories of this alternate parallel universe/timeline. That is to say, Christine in the original timeline had already experienced the very timeline that I am now experiencing.
"You've been doing a LOT of time-traveling, haven't you?" I ask.
"Maybe..." Christine says.
"Why hasn't your dress been tearing, like Dad's lab coat?"
She beams at me.
"What, you won't tell me?" I ask.
She points at her teeth, and I notice that they are just slightly crooked. The flaw is not obvious, but it is slightly noticeable.
"Time travel has a different effect on everyone," she says. "For me, every time I travel backwards in time, my teeth become slightly more crooked."
"Can't we just fix that with braces, then?" I ask.
"I don't think so."
As this alternate timeline continues, my family and I arrive at Disneyland, instead of the cheap shopping mall. And so the dream concludes as we walk down Main Street watching a Mickey Mouse parade, debating whether or not the effects of time-travel on teeth can be remedied by braces.
Lyrics to "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," as sung by the freaky 5-year-old girl holding a paper star:
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
The more you pull the more it tears
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
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