Dreamscapes of Steamed Drapes

Dreamscapes are strange and mysterious places. So strange in fact, that it seems as though it should be easy to "know" when I'm dreaming, yet when I'm there, it all seems ok to me somehow, and I never really question it... kind of like "reality" I don't have to constantly ask myself, "Is this high hat beaver moustache man and his pirate friend who are busy steam cleaning my drapes real?" I take it for granted that they are, and I guess that attitude carries over to my sub con.

Fortunately, I've stumbled upon a couple of tricks that let me know when I'm dreaming. The problem is, once I figure out I'm dreaming, I don't really know what to do from there... I just kind of look around knowing I'm dreaming. Nothing really ever happens at that point, I just kind of stand around in my dream, aware, but not awake. Maybe I haven't had enough practice being aware in my dreams. I've discovered that when I'm dreaming, I'm unable to read fine print. It just falls apart, and the words and letters creep like ants on paper. That is one of the cues I use which clues me in to the fact that I am dreaming. All I have to do is read something, and if it becomes unstable, I know its a dream. The problem is, my sub con has out conned my hyper con. Now, when I suspect I'm dreaming, and try to read something, I can't seem to find my glasses anywhere, and the dream becomes an involved search for my eye wear... not unlike some "real world" situations which prevents me from using that as a cue.

Occasionally in my dreams, my long lost cat named Scratch shows up. He's been missing for a couple of years now, and I don't expect that he'll ever be back, so when I see him, I can be pretty sure it is a dream. So far, it has worked every time, but I still just kind of stand around not knowing what to do. It is always good to see Scratch, even if it is a dream.

The whole reality/non reality thing is so weird. Especially for people who can't separate the two. I've known "one, one too many" people who live in "both" worlds at the same time. It might be a fun place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there. It is interesting to me how uncomfortable normals are around mal-normals. We lock them up, and hide them away in institutions. When we see them on the street we turn and look away, as if their condition is contagious through eye contact. Only cops bother "crazy" people. Everyone else avoids them. One sunny afternoon, not too long ago, I rode my Seabright Runner to Joe on the Go, and was sitting by myself sipping a chai, enjoying the peace and quiet, watching the clouds. In the distance across the Albertsons parking lot I could see someone approaching. He was an older gent, who would probably want to either try to sell something, want to know where to get something, or expect me to give him a hand out. It was obvious that he was about to harsh my mellow, and I wasn't in the mood for chatter. There was no one else there for him to talk to, and I would soon be the focus of his attention if I didn't think fast how to marsh his hello. There he was across from me, with his hand on the back of an empty chair, as if he was about to slide it away from the table and take a seat across from me. "Nice day isn't it?" he cliche'd. I looked up at the sky, and proclaimed gruffly, "It probably isn't real" at which point he removed his hand from the chair and kept walking. Nothing more was said, and I still had thirty seven cents in my pocket, and a hidden smile in my hand.