The following is not a dream.
Last night I couldn't sleep, so there I lay staring at a pinprick of my light without my glasses. To any near-sighted person including myself, a pinprick of light without glasses appears as a blurred halo of light. The halo pulsated, growing smaller and larger as my eyes naturally adjusted their focal point repeatedly back and forth. I thought, "Hey, maybe if I can will my focal point to change enough, the halo of light will eventually converge to a single point and I won't be near-sighted anymore!" But I couldn't do it.
So then I had a better idea. I wondered, "Are there more details inside this 'blurry' halo?" I directed my attention to the details of the "blur," and found that it was not blurry at all. The halo was actually composed of tiny circles. I thought to myself, "This looks uncannily similar to what I would see under a microscope slide in high school biology." I looked more closely at the tiny circles. I blinked. They moved.
Naturally, I was skeptical. Hell, if someone told me they could see cells in their eyes and wrote this note, I wouldn't believe them at all. But gradually, after staring and blinking a lot, I became convinced that these were, indeed, CELLS ON THE TIP OF MY PUPIL. By staring at a fixed light in darkness, I essentially turned my eye into a LIGHT MICROSCOPE, with the slide being the tip of my pupil. I think it only works because I am severely near-sighted.
By the way, these are not floaters. If you tell me I am seeing floaters I will punch you in the face. I've noticed floaters since I was 5.
You can see cells too! (But only if you're severely near-sighted, like -900 or more). Here are some easy steps!
1. Make sure the room is dark.
2. Take off your glasses.
3. Cover one eye (if you leave both eyes uncovered you will be seeing cells from both eyes at the same time, which would be confusing).
4. Stare at a pinprick of medium-brightness light about 5 feet away (this should appear as a blurry halo).
5. Focus on this light for a minute or so. Try to catch what's going on inside the blur.
6. Close your eye exactly half-way such that your eyelid is covering half of the halo of light. You should now be seeing the bottom semi-circle half of the halo.
7. Open your eyelid all the way. Notice the WATER MARK you left behind on the halo (it should appear as a thick double-membrane line dividing the halo). This should be enough to convince you that what you are seeing is in your eye on the cell level, not in the light.
8. If you're still not convinced, blink a lot. Notice how the cells at the top layer move and slide with the blink, and momentum carries them forward as it should, but they slow down due to a viscosity in the liquid they live in. Also notice that deeper-layered cells remain stationary.
Enjoy, if you're near-sighted.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Shrimp and Eggs
Yesterday I was sitting on the bus when an old woman shoved a plate of shrimp and scrambled eggs in my face and tried to cram the plate into my mouth. Disgusted, I shoved it away, fearing it was poisoned.
She then explained to me that she feared the food was poisoned (which is why she was trying to feed it to me first, just to see what would happen). I asked her why, and she said, "My ten-year-old son cooked this for me, and then he ran away. I think he's trying to poison me." She had no other reason to suspect her son of any such malice; she was simply a deranged, paranoid mother. However, I managed to convince her that her son's intentions were entirely benevolent and that she should look for her son, who probably ran away for some other reason.
So we got off the bus and called the police, informing them of her missing son. We walked around, and -- lo and behold, there was her son, running away. The police, conveniently nearby, gave chase.
Suddenly, the police who was chasing the son dropped his counter-terrorist shield, drew his pistol, and inexplicably began firing upon the running child. I yelled at the police, "STOP! I'll shoot you if you keep shooting him!" But it was an empty threat, for I had no gun. I could sense that the next shot would connect, so I threw some textbooks I happened to be carrying between the police and the boy. But I was too slow, and the bullet caught the child in the head. Then the two police officers hopped in the police car and rapidly drove away.
The child's mother and I were outraged. We rallied some fellow students and pursued the police car by foot. Soon, we reached a dead end with a panel-activated metal warehouse gate as the only exit. The police car rammed the large silver panel, and the gate began opening upwards. We the students, however, surrounded and marauded the surprisingly small police car (little bigger than a backpack). The police themselves were pretty small too, and we easily overpowered them, took their guns, and shot them to death.
As I wiped the blood on my hands onto my pants, I remarked, "It'll be hard to explain this in court..." and lamented that my fingerprints were now on the guns. One of the students responded, "It's ok. We can bribe the forensics people to contaminate the fingerprints and render them unreadable." To which I said, "You know we're like... in the 1980's, right? Technology sucks, and forensics people can't do shit, other than maybe read fingerprints."
A couple of hours later, I played the Pokemon theme song on an under-sized piano at the request of some Asian guy.
By the way, this was a dream, obviously.
She then explained to me that she feared the food was poisoned (which is why she was trying to feed it to me first, just to see what would happen). I asked her why, and she said, "My ten-year-old son cooked this for me, and then he ran away. I think he's trying to poison me." She had no other reason to suspect her son of any such malice; she was simply a deranged, paranoid mother. However, I managed to convince her that her son's intentions were entirely benevolent and that she should look for her son, who probably ran away for some other reason.
So we got off the bus and called the police, informing them of her missing son. We walked around, and -- lo and behold, there was her son, running away. The police, conveniently nearby, gave chase.
Suddenly, the police who was chasing the son dropped his counter-terrorist shield, drew his pistol, and inexplicably began firing upon the running child. I yelled at the police, "STOP! I'll shoot you if you keep shooting him!" But it was an empty threat, for I had no gun. I could sense that the next shot would connect, so I threw some textbooks I happened to be carrying between the police and the boy. But I was too slow, and the bullet caught the child in the head. Then the two police officers hopped in the police car and rapidly drove away.
The child's mother and I were outraged. We rallied some fellow students and pursued the police car by foot. Soon, we reached a dead end with a panel-activated metal warehouse gate as the only exit. The police car rammed the large silver panel, and the gate began opening upwards. We the students, however, surrounded and marauded the surprisingly small police car (little bigger than a backpack). The police themselves were pretty small too, and we easily overpowered them, took their guns, and shot them to death.
As I wiped the blood on my hands onto my pants, I remarked, "It'll be hard to explain this in court..." and lamented that my fingerprints were now on the guns. One of the students responded, "It's ok. We can bribe the forensics people to contaminate the fingerprints and render them unreadable." To which I said, "You know we're like... in the 1980's, right? Technology sucks, and forensics people can't do shit, other than maybe read fingerprints."
A couple of hours later, I played the Pokemon theme song on an under-sized piano at the request of some Asian guy.
By the way, this was a dream, obviously.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Pushing a Cruise Ship
Setting: A huge cruise ship, like Titanic but more modernized.
There was this humanoid "pixie" whom I had seen earlier. She was blonde and quite cute.
That's why, as I see her again just as the elevator doors are closing, I panic and hit lots of elevator buttons hoping to re-open the doors so that I can go out there and see her again. One of the buttons I press happens to be the "alarm" button. It causes the entire cruise ship to sound an alarm. "Oops," I shrug to the others who are in the elevator with me.
The doors of the elevator open only when it reaches the lower level. Visible and lethal green gas is already seeping into the room (apparently, it's a security response triggered by the alarm), but the elevator is now out of service. We run up the stairs towards the exit, the green gas on our tails. To complicate things, there is a narrow glass maze with timed doors that open only every 2 seconds and then clamp shut so hard as to be able to pulverize anyone unfortunate enough to be standing there (think old-school Prince of Persia with the fanged doors). Inside the maze, we are still chased by "pockets" of green gas that seep inside the maze whenever the doors open.
After traversing many such doors, I exit the glass maze and step into a large hallway with metal detectors: the ship's security gate. There are three large lines to board individual smaller ships that travel to the mainland of our vacation spot. The cruise ship never docks; it just sets anchor far away from land while the smaller ships actually travel to the mainland.
Supposedly, everyone must board these ships, because they have to sink the cruise ship for "maintenance" while the passengers of the ship are gone. However, there are still about 100 people in line waiting to board the ships when suddenly the lights in the hall dim and turn blue. The modernized gates leading to the smaller ships close with a hydraulic hiss, and I hear a soft, low "thunk" as the first ship detaches itself from the main cruise ship and sets sail. Two more thunks follow.
We realize we are trapped inside a cruise ship that is about to be put underwater for "maintenance." Oh well.
[skip some scenes]
The majority of the passengers are still on land, and we have the cruise ship all to ourselves! Somehow, the ship is fine and dandy, and we are not underwater. We approach land.
For some strange reason, we are pressed to find "riches" from land and bring them back to the ship. For another strange reason, we can't simply bring the cruise ship to the beach and dock there; we have to jump into the water with snorkeling gear and PUSH the damn cruise ship with our bare hands until it reaches shore.
And so we do, me and two of my nondescript friends. We go underwater and push at the bottom of the ship's hull. It proves to be surprisingly easy, and the ship even seems to tilt and almost tip over a couple of times.
One of my friends ask, "What if we accidentally tip the cruise ship over and it falls onto us?"
I respond, "That's pretty much impossible; even a shark ramming the cruise ship head-on wouldn't budge it even a bit."
My other friend says, "Yeah that shark would definitely just knock himself out."
But we are still bothered, because the cruise ship is so light and really DOES almost tip over a couple of times. As the three of us align the cruise ship with the shore, I marvel at how easy it is to move the cruise ship just by myself. I wonder, "Why is it so light?" We turn around and look over our shoulders.
Lo and behold, the gigantic cruise ship is hundreds of feet behind us, and has not budged a bit. In fact, what we had thought to be our cruise ship was, in actuality, nothing but a large blow-up dolphin balloon.
There was this humanoid "pixie" whom I had seen earlier. She was blonde and quite cute.
That's why, as I see her again just as the elevator doors are closing, I panic and hit lots of elevator buttons hoping to re-open the doors so that I can go out there and see her again. One of the buttons I press happens to be the "alarm" button. It causes the entire cruise ship to sound an alarm. "Oops," I shrug to the others who are in the elevator with me.
The doors of the elevator open only when it reaches the lower level. Visible and lethal green gas is already seeping into the room (apparently, it's a security response triggered by the alarm), but the elevator is now out of service. We run up the stairs towards the exit, the green gas on our tails. To complicate things, there is a narrow glass maze with timed doors that open only every 2 seconds and then clamp shut so hard as to be able to pulverize anyone unfortunate enough to be standing there (think old-school Prince of Persia with the fanged doors). Inside the maze, we are still chased by "pockets" of green gas that seep inside the maze whenever the doors open.
After traversing many such doors, I exit the glass maze and step into a large hallway with metal detectors: the ship's security gate. There are three large lines to board individual smaller ships that travel to the mainland of our vacation spot. The cruise ship never docks; it just sets anchor far away from land while the smaller ships actually travel to the mainland.
Supposedly, everyone must board these ships, because they have to sink the cruise ship for "maintenance" while the passengers of the ship are gone. However, there are still about 100 people in line waiting to board the ships when suddenly the lights in the hall dim and turn blue. The modernized gates leading to the smaller ships close with a hydraulic hiss, and I hear a soft, low "thunk" as the first ship detaches itself from the main cruise ship and sets sail. Two more thunks follow.
We realize we are trapped inside a cruise ship that is about to be put underwater for "maintenance." Oh well.
[skip some scenes]
The majority of the passengers are still on land, and we have the cruise ship all to ourselves! Somehow, the ship is fine and dandy, and we are not underwater. We approach land.
For some strange reason, we are pressed to find "riches" from land and bring them back to the ship. For another strange reason, we can't simply bring the cruise ship to the beach and dock there; we have to jump into the water with snorkeling gear and PUSH the damn cruise ship with our bare hands until it reaches shore.
And so we do, me and two of my nondescript friends. We go underwater and push at the bottom of the ship's hull. It proves to be surprisingly easy, and the ship even seems to tilt and almost tip over a couple of times.
One of my friends ask, "What if we accidentally tip the cruise ship over and it falls onto us?"
I respond, "That's pretty much impossible; even a shark ramming the cruise ship head-on wouldn't budge it even a bit."
My other friend says, "Yeah that shark would definitely just knock himself out."
But we are still bothered, because the cruise ship is so light and really DOES almost tip over a couple of times. As the three of us align the cruise ship with the shore, I marvel at how easy it is to move the cruise ship just by myself. I wonder, "Why is it so light?" We turn around and look over our shoulders.
Lo and behold, the gigantic cruise ship is hundreds of feet behind us, and has not budged a bit. In fact, what we had thought to be our cruise ship was, in actuality, nothing but a large blow-up dolphin balloon.
So I was in bed with this guy
The test is to fly a rocket ship, launched from Earth, through a small ring barely bigger than the thickness of the rocket itself. If the rocket ship flies through the small ring without touching the edge, the captain is accepted into the elite group. If not, the captain is executed by "reapers."
As an omniscient observer I witnessed the deaths of many such captains who failed the test. They would be put inside an elevator. The elevator door would open, jump back to closed position, and re-open, in a very creepy infinite loop. During one such opening, small blue imp-like creatures, "reapers," would jump into the elevator and kill them.
So I was in bed with this guy. And I was wondering why I was here in the first place, or why this guy, who didn't seem gay, would want me in bed with him.
That's when I attained a third-person view of myself, and I realized I was a chick. I was a female captain who had failed the test, but I had made a bargain with this guy that I would have sex with him and he would see to it that I would not be executed by the reapers.
But this was a gross misunderstanding: I was only a male playing a female character! So I flung my hands up and said "Dude! Stop! I'm a man!" and hurriedly detached myself from this guy. He was confused at first, since I looked nothing like a man; I was a woman. However, he quickly realized that lots of male players choose female models for their characters in MMORPG's, so he believed me (thankfully).
Real-life connection to dream:
I have two female characters in the MMORPG Rohan, and they are both extremely attractive.
As an omniscient observer I witnessed the deaths of many such captains who failed the test. They would be put inside an elevator. The elevator door would open, jump back to closed position, and re-open, in a very creepy infinite loop. During one such opening, small blue imp-like creatures, "reapers," would jump into the elevator and kill them.
So I was in bed with this guy. And I was wondering why I was here in the first place, or why this guy, who didn't seem gay, would want me in bed with him.
That's when I attained a third-person view of myself, and I realized I was a chick. I was a female captain who had failed the test, but I had made a bargain with this guy that I would have sex with him and he would see to it that I would not be executed by the reapers.
But this was a gross misunderstanding: I was only a male playing a female character! So I flung my hands up and said "Dude! Stop! I'm a man!" and hurriedly detached myself from this guy. He was confused at first, since I looked nothing like a man; I was a woman. However, he quickly realized that lots of male players choose female models for their characters in MMORPG's, so he believed me (thankfully).
Real-life connection to dream:
I have two female characters in the MMORPG Rohan, and they are both extremely attractive.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Children with Blood
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..."
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..."
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.
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