a most magnificant moonlit dream

honestly, this is one of the most beautiful dreams I've ever dreamt. I don't think my words will ever match up to it, so here's a clumsy, clumsy attempt to transcribe it (will probably rewrite it later :P):


volcano. a thatched wooden hut of two stories perched over grassy mountain-hills. granting favours to people, an assistant to a witch, but with fairy wings, bound by a kind of servitude. people come with their problems, and we help them solve them.
(a waterfall in an earthy landscape. a tourist, somehow, marveling at the way water breaks into the ground in white explosions.
a boy slips (some lawsuit?))
below the witch's hut, a boy tells me he has never seen a shooting star, and hence cannot draw it. I tell him not to be ridiculous- doesn't he have an imagination?  I point to his back- look! a star is erupting already! we turn around, and sure enough, the sky erupts with the flames of stars, lighting the sky in fiery explosions. it turns out, however, that these are the flames of a volcano.
the sky swells with volcanic fire till the coal fiery clouds engulf the roof of the sky, sweeping towards our little thatched hut that lies on stilts over the hill. we grapple the soil with desperate fingers, climbing our way towards the hut. we manage to get away with a few possessions, albeit closely.

a carnival. park of some kind under the moonlight. the streets are painted a ghostly halo, and all is brushed in shades of silver. there is also a multiple-storied shopping centre with banisters of glass. a luminous halo shrouds everything that strongly reminded me of the short story  "Murder Mysteries" by Neil Gaiman...
an exhibit:
an enormous glass building that is a tank. it looms over the streets with no end, its belly bulging with huge glassy tanks of water.
numerous pale koi fish swim around in these tanks, their bodies shimmering with a ghostly light. under the moonlight, they look eerily like a procession of silvery ghosts. I grapple for my camera, which isn't present.
(I had a kind of detached lucidness throughout this whole dream.)

later that night: in a stadium. it is night, but the sky harbours cracks of silvery light that pierce the clouds, as though hiding slits of the day. it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
on the stage, a woman rises. she sings a looping opera that seems to have descended from the heavens. we sing with her, our bodies and voices rising in a crescendo with the flow of the music. It felt like we were a painting of shadowy moonlit shrouds rising and falling to an unearthly tune. it was a most heavenly feeling, and I remember thinking it was the most sublime thing I'd ever experienced, molding into this scene...

later: a lawsuit. no one can hear me. I must, must take a picture of this beautiful scene. I rush around Yanny who is suddenly dressed as a pale, unearthly witch clothed in dark purple velvet and scarlet nails. no one hears me because of the noise that dims over everything in a kind of perpetual radio stutter. I pick a stone and throw it at Yanny in frustration. it bounces off her and breaks the thin glass banister. I am startled, and am shipped by her to the police where I patiently explain it wasn't really my fault. I get let off, I think...


a lucid dream


before: kinokuniya and Singapore. semi-lucid, I smile to myself: I now have access to all the books in this bookstore in my dreams! I make a note that I will constantly return to this place to devour all the books while I am able to lucidly dream this.
also: humidity. I can feel the touch/taste of the air tingling my skin. everything feels more claustrophobic, immediate. the roads converge together, the buildings clasp the horizon, I can feel the rawness of the bursting sun setting, the fleshy concrete beneath my boots. It feels rawly humid, rawly real... I can smell the hawker's food, nearly taste the South East Asian aroma of strong spices and earthy milk tea. I'm slightly disconcerted upon finding myself here again, and trying to wrestle between feelings of comfort and confusion...

traveling from that Singapore-area to another destination. initially, gripping onto iron handles at the edges of a monorail of which cover refuses to shut, grappling for a hold. getting pushed off onto the railway track.
emerging from the broken railway station to a dirty tiled staircase leading from old multi-storied car parks to areas above. circling my arms to fly over the floors till I reach an open-aired temple with a floor tiled with piercing blue lapis lazuli and fractured marble pillars. the temple looks over a deep volcanic lake of the same piercing blue tucked underneath sparkling mineral hills with oyster mushroom-like houses. a queen emerges, her face a porcelain doll's, her lips painted a quizzical pale pink at the edges and on the top like a geisha's neat lips. up close, I can see clearly she is made of porcelain. she has wide, wide eyes that seem to sparkle as she gazes upon the world with a kind of quirky wonder (I thought of helena bonham carter, for some puzzling reason :D).  she approaches me, her eyes pregnant with worry. "I am dying," she tells me. "I don't look it, but I'm deathly sick." She is also amused by my appearance, and laughs, teasing initially me for being such a dwarf next to her (she is a giant in her world). I perch on a broomstick that is like a mushroom cloud, gently breathing in the beautiful landscape, and memorising each and every aspect of it...


Mah, it was really, really gorgeous! If I had brilliant coloured paints like
theirea , I would be off painting this right about now :D. Hee...
The fact it was lucid just made it doubly wonderful!!

I also got the distinct impression my dreams were gently admonishing me for being too lazy of late to record them. I distinctively felt a pervading, suspended self in the atmosphere was trying to bring me back to myself (by letting me dream lucid and hence, semi-aware with memory and senses in-tact) so I'd just stop working for a moment and get back to the source of my artistic fertility. it's awesome, yes yes :3

a tumult of dreams

My apologies for lack of updates! There were actually more than a couple of dreams I wanted to write out, but fell into laziness. Shortly after this habit, my dreams started to get mind-numbingly dull as if in rebellion, till last night :D (when I wished furtively that they become a *little* more interesting, even if they had to be dull) So here we go, a massive update... >_>
They're all different in tone. So I think I will try to separate them as necessary :3

i. a birthday dream:
(It felt very much like a gift from something-other. That jacuzzi, for example. I spent the majority of the dream floating around in the water under those looming windows, enjoying the indulgence XD. Erm, cat-gift-dreams are largely indulgent.)

Ida, meeting her finally! In my uncle's mansion, where everything is dressed in dark mahogany wood, red-turkish carpet, and full-length mirrors that balance off the deep walls, flashing . The dark wooden staircases sweep upwards, leading to higher levels.
On a bed with Ida. Everything is saturated with a kind of dank, dark scent/atmosphere. She has a stuff toy with her- a lizard with a white mane. It drops below the bed. Looking under, we see an assortment of real lizards and other not-so-nice creatures. The floor crawls with bugs, and abandoned wind-up toy-things that creak and walk about. I tell Ida her lost toy is probably in the last place she would look at, and it is: in her pocket.

Before dinner, I tell Ida I'm going to take a bath, and slip into the bathroom. It's huge, with looming windows and two oversized square jacuzzi bathtubs. I swim about in one, enjoying the clean parting of water under skin...
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ii. Something pretty, but partially forgotten :3

old school. tree, nighttime. Vines twining about concrete. A massive oak tree gleams under the moonlight in the center of the school, where the corridors circle around like a salutation. Running through these corridors with moon-swept lungs, feeling very exalted. It's so beautiful...
Also, running through the corridors by day. The tone is different, but exciting, nonetheless...
There is a story here, but I have left it alone for so long much of it is forgotten :3
Later: I think I *do* partially remember it. I'll come back and rewrite it sometime soon :D

iii. An adventure dream, disguised under a veil of normalcy:

before: I have a house with a garden. A neat little garden in the backyard with sweet little pots of plants, a wooden shoe rack, and neat little bushes. My garden faces another with a huge oak tree. It is Victoria's, I realise later. In her cupboard are her shoes, neatly arranged. Neat black pumps next to boots. I scold myself for being so silly- Victoria was always so near me! Didn't I realise this all along? I ride the rope of an oak tree and fly over her house from a vantage point.

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silvers of (passing) dreams

pardon. these are all jumbled up, because I lost the originals/did not record them properly/only have a ghost memory of some of them :P
Flashes are basically passing 'images' that flash through my mind before I go to sleep...

flash #1
checkered baby dancing through a black, white and red tiled floor.
flash #2
children playing flutes, marching down an underground highway. They walk like wind-up toys, faces illuminated eerily by the bright, golden tunnel lamps.

grey skies, and an island with an aging, wooden house.
its entrance is marked by totem-like statues, and winds constantly sweep through its empty interiors, making the walls wail like possessed children. people had worshiped ancient gods here once-upon-a-time, but now the house lies empty, reeking only of the salt, sea and something other- perhaps the oppressive ancient anger of some forgotten god...
running outside to an English garden, where a pasty stone fountain lies in the midst of diverging paths. I flee from this island, away from the friends I had entered it with.
after: the wolf villain flies, his paws in front of his eyes in a gesture of pain. we fly with him over seas under grey skies heavy with rain, hands over our eyes. this has some significance, of which I have forgotten...

River, a boat. Taxi by plane to a land of green, green earth and the occasional hill.
A Ferris wheel lies on a tower on a tall green hill. We must get there.
old, crumbling corridors made of stone, with the occasional gaping window proclaiming sky. corridors are claustrophobic, with sharp endings and sudden turns. a friend of red, red hair. she stands on a window, her hair staining the dirt concrete.
(we never get to the Ferris wheel, which mysteriously disappears upon our reaching our destination)

Sea, by harbour. Moving house.
Ida and her elder sister. Going out to the portico to see the moon. "I prefer looking at her through the window," Ida says.
Going out, I see what she means: the portico is caged by wooden beams from the top and the wooden floor sinks into a sudden depth so that when you reach the end, you fall suddenly into space. Beryl grabs me by the hands and helps me up, telling me this is why they are always careful not to wander too far.
Lying on the wooden floor reconciled, Blacky comes to me. She sinks into my arms, her body molding into mine. She rubs a warm cheek against mine, and I sink into a memory of home...

a slip of a dream


a red, red stage. The audience indignant.
Shona, on the stands, protesting. On the stage, mummified headless corpses lie suspended,
bandages unraveling like stray wraiths.
Everything in the atmosphere is stained the red of sacrifices. Apparantly, the audience
had enacted some hideous form of violence to satiate their hunger. Shona and her friends
are protesting these atrocities. I talk to her, and hear her story...

(no subject)

Over fields lit by an orange tinted glow, mystics perform an ancient ritual. One ends up flying up cross-legged over the fields. I am floating suspended over the fields, and the sight of him makes me very uneasy for some reason. He comes constantly towards me, nonetheless, while I float around by moving the air, trying to get away but always moving closer. I have become part of the ritual. He tells me that in order for me to fly better, I have to spread three fingers out and divide the air like a top. He says this while his eyes and legs are crossed.
Back at his hut (also lit by an orange-reddish glow, and Turkish carpets), he lets me read an ancient book on flying rituals on his bed, aside a book of Mucha art (o_o). The book is huge but thin, with a reddish worn cover. 


In an apartment, with the friend who owns it. She talks. The fire on the stove turns on, and dances around in the figures of people. Each flame is a person. One steps gingerly out and rubs his sides, walking towards the table. My friend cries out that he will die outside the stove, and the only way to save him would be to pour water over him. This makes sense to me at the time...