weird

i dreamt that barack obama gave me a missed call...

he must have found out that i was photoshopping one of his pictures!

dream a little dream of me

sometimes i dream of a familiar sound, and i spend minutes trying to find the source of it, and i awake to the alarm clock. i look at the time and i know for a fact that it could not have been ringing for that long.

what is instantaneous or momentary in the real world, the dream world can stretch and interpret generously with respect to time. a man can lie in bed and in one second of sleep somehow enact what must be several minutes of dream. this may appear to be an acceleration of the mind in its dream state. but this does not explain the sudden loss in processing power when we finally awake. to me it sounds counterintuitive that the brain speeds up when it is supposed to be resting.

i believe that the brain can write and retrieve a bajillion tons of information in an instant; it is its processing speed that limits our ability to experience all of it in the same amount of time. in order to explain time dilation in the dream state, i posit that the brain can architect an entire dream world in an instant(the rules of which it does not need to create since those rules already exist our memory); the actual happenings in this world, occurs at a much slower rate--a bottlenecked speed which we call real time. seemingly impossible things like teleportation, morphing, flight, and lightning-fast object creation occur in dreams because the brain can create ideas faster than we can perceive them.

i believe dreams are not alternate realities but ideas that we end up living out in the dream state. and because our minds are so accustomed to the slow pace of time, we end up trying to experience these ideas as life on a timeline; eg. i appear in a dark alley. a large brown furry monster materialises. it chases me. i run. it catches up to me and grabs onto my leg. i brace myself. i appear in a quiet forest.

unfortunately we cannot prevent this or have it any other way, after all in real life, everything happens on a timeline. what this implies is that dreams are created as ideas, and that creation no matter how big, can be written to the mind in no time at all. however for it to have meaning we as humans are bound by the limit of processing it, and we can only do so by experiencing that idea on a timeline. so then our dreams are set and fixed by the unconscious; we should not discount the relevance of looking at our dreams as ideas we already have rather than as events that are continuously occuring in an external world (dream world) in which we are merely an observer.

in a dream, we are the observer and the observed. and when we awake, the dream itself becomes apparent for what it is--an idea.

this is what i believe creates weight and legitimacy for dream interpretation. what i do not believe is that dreams are an open and active channel for external influence(read active mind control, realtime exchange with the cosmos etc). if there is a possibility for prophetic dreams, those visions must have already been created prior to sleep, and only self-revealed to the subject during the idea-processing activity called dreaming. upon awakening, the dream experience is further intuited upon to reproduce the same idea but in concrete form; dreaming facilitates communication between the conscious and unconscious.

people lie to themselves in real life, but the unconscious does not lie--it is the ultimate truth to self. it speaks to us in dreams and show us in no uncertain terms the ideas, people and objects that preoccupy our conscious minds in waking life. it is reinforces to you your greatest fears, your highest ambitions, your warmest loves, your coldest hates, your most irksome frustrations, your greatest wants, your strongest needs, and by virtue of only showing you what has frequently been on your mind, it is necessarily honest to you regardless of your pathological need to lie to yourself in consciousness. unconscious ideas hold within them the list of things which actually mean everything or nothing to you; a hierarchy of priorities if you will.

so when people say, "Listen to your dreams :)" i somehow feel that they dont know half of what they are even suggesting, even though they are right.

watermelon

i dreamt of a family of watermelons, there were five of them. the father melon was the biggest and not as green as the rest--slightly yellow, and his name was Gomez. the mother melon was named Nona and the three children watermelons, one was named Pova and another Gerho!, yes with an exclamation mark, and the third i cannot recall.

i remember waking and keeping my eyes closed while i tried to burn those names, and their order, into my memory. it was an image of two racks of watermelons, and the second rack was an alternate duplicate of the first, and those had different names, with the exception of the mother watermelons--both were named Nona. needless to say, i could only remember, if only partially, the names of the first set of names and i doubt it would have turned out any different if i had a pen and paper next to me the moment i woke.

the watermelon family was substantively linked to a simultaneous dream, in which a father was killed by a robber, and that man's wife held me captive. and because all of this was such a sad sight; this world of a broken family was replaced by a new set from an alternate universe; this is where the second set of watermelons come in.

for reasons unknown, new Gomez was nowhere to be found; this supposedly new family was still incomplete. i neglected to question this, but somehow i was still in a captive situation. oh did i mention that all of this was happening in my house? anyway the gun that was used to subdue me in universe one was now lying unattended in universe two. it was a silver Glock-ish type which rattled like a homemade piece.

i checked the clip--it contained two rounds. i noticed the magazine was similar to one of those hand-held sweet-dispensing thingies you buy at 7-11. the bullets were also shaped like sweets--rather button cell batteries--LR44 to be exact. coincidentally, two of these are precisely what you need to power a Digimon device. i digress.

i load the clip back in and cock the slide. it is worryingly rattly, and i doubt the safety mechanism is safe at all so i point it down at all times. new Nona bursts through my room door and i point the gun at her. she has a knife and she lifts it up, whether to defend herself or attempt at matching my threat, i did not put much thought into at the time. she tells me i dont have to do this, and that my false imprisonment was not her first choice but last resort. she was trying to convince me that if it were up to her she would have let me go, but part of me could not let loose the possibility that she, or anyone for that matter, would say anything to get out of the stare of a loaded barrel. i put two in her chest. suddenly i doubt her no more, but it is too late.

i was free. but then i realised it wasnt what i really wanted anyway--to be free. now i had neither father nor mother. no Gomez, no Nona. and i look down and i see two racks of watermelons, and their names appear and i know i am far too rational at this point to remain in this dream; i start to drift into consciousness and i try in vain to record their names. i know i am awake now but i keep my eyes closed to preserve the image.

Gomez, Nona, Pova, Gerho!, nine names and i only remember four. at this point i am quite certain the other five did not even appear for me to remember; but that is one of the things that will never be proven.

crazy guy

went to sleep at 6am, wokeup at what must have been about 8am and started laughing for no reason. its a little foggy but i think it started due to something being said in a dream. the thing is, i dont remember it being funny. i just woke up, and had this overwhelming need to laugh. its like laughing gas or something.

so im lying there thinking  why do i feel like laughing. im not gonna laugh at something which isnt funny, thats just dumb. but after a while i gave up resisting and lol'd for the heck of it. like i had to just get it over with. but it was fun while it lasted, after which i felt i needed some rest.

so i went back to sleep.

nightmare

i just woke up from a terrible dream

personal questions

G201

h.c: so greg, on a scale of 0 to 10, how anal are you?

huh, zero to ten? thats like 11 datum points...normally its like 1 to 3 or 1 to 5. 1 to 3 is easy and at least the middle of 1 to 5 is a "3". but the midpoint of 0 to 10 is 5.5. would you accept a decimal answer? its so hard to visualise an 11. what if i feel that im only three quarters to completely anal? thats like eight-point-something. how to calculate? why your scale so weird one?

h.c:  just say 11 la. (*)@#^

strawberry swing

i am in a playground an unfamiliar park. it is daytime. i am sitting on a swing, going back and forth, back and forth...on my right is another swing going in the other direction.

on it is a baby boy, no more than a couple months old. its old enough to be able to grab onto the chains, and old enough to actually appreciate this enjoyable activity. i know this because he is smiling and giggling to himself. i smile to myself as am i looking at him.

i get carried away by the happiness he created and start to swing faster. this is fun. i am reaching higher heights with each push, rocketing up and down, my shoes carving troughs in the sand with each pass. the baby is also trying to go faster, and he does so quickly; and something bad happens. he cant seem to hold on. hes thrown from the swing, and he lands facedown 20 feet from the sandbox, on hard concrete.

i appear next to him...to it. its not a baby boy anymore. its a foetus smaller than my last finger. it has hair, and a face, and tiny hands and wiry legs, it has all of those, but it has no breath. i know it is dead now. a crowd of adults gather, and they see a dead creature down on the ground in front of them and all they do is look, and they mumble amongst themselves, and they point, and they shake their heads, and their brows are furrowed but they are far away. im close by, kneeling,  proning. im next to this dead human being for no practical reason. i want to pick it up but i dont. theres nothing i can do.

nothing except stay close to it during its last moment--because i feel for it and because i am the only one who does and because i am the only one who can--therefore i must.

every single one of those adults, they think they know but they dont. they think they are special but they are the same. they speak of laws but have no virtues. they give solutions to problems that do not exist. they talk when nobody listens. they fumble when all they need to do is keep still and stay silent: every single one of those adults: i despise them all.

i wake up, and i decide that i can learn more from a dead baby than from ten grown humans.

chased

hi, my best friend from primary school. havent you in years. hows it been? good great. youre in ntu too? wow. oh youre doing this module now? i did it last sem! hmm? uh i got A+. why are u so surprised? yup. haha. ok wait ill show you on degree audit...

wait..damn my iphone isnt working. uh youve gotta go? what time is it? oh 1:26? shit i have Labs. well cya then.

i dash out the door, and jump down an entire flight of stairs. ouch, my ankles. a boy appears ahead of me. he is wearing a dark blue hoodie, without the hood on. he turns back to look at me as if to say "hurry up" and i get the message. i hop over a drain and run past a corner. i cant seem to close my distance. he's still just as far ahead. can you slow down?

i am slowing down. its not that my legs are heavy...they just feel, extremely slow. i want to walk faster but they feel like wet starch--it flows and it moves but if you push it real fast, it hardens--it moves just as fast as it wants to--not a tad faster. its annoying. its frustrating. i have to get to class. i feel like im trying to run underwater. the faster i move my legs, the less likely i am to move at all.... and this boy is still in front, asking me to move faster. i cant. i want to. im trying to! but i cant!

he fishes an umbrella out of his bag. i wonder what its for. he opens it to shelter his head. i wonder why. it isnt even sunny. and then it starts to rain. the boy is even further away now. i can barely see him through the sheets of droplets. im still moving half as fast as i want to. he turns back to face me again, looking at me over his shoulder, with furrowed eyebrows, not of impatience but rather...encouragement.

i lift my wrist to look at the time. oh right, i dont wear watches. i look at my iphone. hey, the website finished loading. there it is. my A+. i put it back in my pocket because its getting wet from the rain. immediately i remember why i took it out in the first place, and i take it out again to look at the time. 3:26pm. suddenly i feel like i dont need to go for class anymore. the release from that burden feels...peaceful. i look up and the boy isnt there anymore.

i wake up. oh it's still monday. that was a puzzling dream. usually im running away from something. this time i was running towards something. i guess its still a problem if in all of these chase dreams, i am always unable to run. how long did this afternoon nap take out of my day? i look at my iphone lying next to me, on the bed. time: 3:26pm.

fuck..

ps. 6 july 2010 i have come to the conclusion that i can no longer run in my dreams due to physiological reasons. the sensation that i feel in my legs is nothing more than the fact that legs feel exactly that way when youre sleeping; they are deactivated and heavy and hard to move. trying to run in a dream translates to trying to run in bed--and rather than thinking my legs refuse to obey, i should have realised that they couldnt even if they were that sentient. why do my legs feel heavy and lazy in my dreams? someone said to me "thats exactly how legs feel when youre asleep."

optimism

your alarm clock rings at 7.30am, you hit the snooze faster than you can think "shit, its time to get up", faster than the time it takes for you to drift back into slumber, back into whatever dream you were dreaming, or lack of a dream you werent dreaming. and before long it wakes you up again, and you hit snooze again. the third time the clock does it you open one eye, and peek through the curtains a grey ominous sky that looks as if it is about to unleash unforgiving rain. you realise at this point you cant roll back into bed because you already hit snooze thrice. you curse into the pillow with "fuck." if you dont get up now, youll be late for work/school.

you stumble into the washroom, relieve yourself and freshen up and before you leave the toilet you take a look at your reflection in the mirror that hasnt been cleaned in ages. you encounter a visage upon which there is neither relief nor freshness.

you take off your comfortable pajamas and put on garb that is much less so. the shirt looks good to you only because you think other people might think so. you slip on shoes that match. its starting to drizzle; you grab some newspaper.

you hop on the bicycle and its harder than ever to pedal. you cannot drop into a lower gear because the derailleur is stuck. its raining now, your newspaper is wet and your nice shoes are soaking. your hair is in your face. youre thinking to yourself "this is my life." and the stars respond by sending a black mercedes whizzing past you, emptying a curbside puddle of muddy rainwater onto your left side. you want to cycle faster but you cant; each push is harder than the previous because the road ahead is ramping uphill. you cant tell if the water running down your face is mud or rain or tears. you feel cold.

then you wake up and touch your cheeks; they are wet. it is 7.25 am. it is saturday. the sun is peeking through the curtains. on your phone there are unread messages from your friends saying good morning. you smell pancakes. you feel warm. you touch your cheeks and they are wet not by mud or by rain; for sure they must be tears.

what kind? doesnt matter, all you know is that you can roll back into bed.

i died.

i go to bed at 4 am morning of 27th and i get hit by sleep paralysis again. same ol' same ol', except somehow i decide now would be the first time i try snapping out of it by sheer will. of course it doesnt work. i can barely control my breathing, and i cant even tell if what i am seeing is my room's ceiling between the gaps of five-ton eyelids or just a hallucinatory memory of that ceiling. "mind over body" is underexamined and overvalued. i decide to surrender and within what felt like seconds the grip fades and i am re-released into REM; this usually repeats a couple more times but this time this is it--no more random awakenings for now.

how could i be so naive. it cant be that simple. i now enter a dream. in this dream i do something terrible. it is abhorrent. i cannot remember what exactly because i am about to fail at writing this down the second i wake up in the afternoon. i do however remember feeling remorse, but strangely zero regret. maybe it's because in waking life i always try to make unshakeable choices. but in this dream the point is ever so sharp because for whatever i did prior to the last recallable event i am now facing the death penalty for it.and i feel no regret.

i remember now that in this dream i am wearing my saf uniform. maybe there is a connection somewhere. or maybe that's irrelevant. i dont know. i will die soon because of my sentencing and i feel no regret. people are hanged all the time, especially in this country, for questionable but reasonable points that supposedly justify. while on one hand i find it embarrassing that we arent already abolitionist i also accept that we probably never will be. under this realisation i neutrally resign to the fact that in my lifetime we will carry on hanging certain criminals like we take out the garbage. right now i am that trash, and i will be taken out soon, and i am pressed that i am not depressed...

a day or two pass in my dream and they let my family in to see me for the last time. they are sad. they cry for me. they are not ready to let me go and i understand why. people around me have always been more emotional than i, and i, always more rational than they. ive already come to the terms of my impending execution, and to most, it would understandably seem abit too quick. more than a tad disturbing, i admit, but i blink the thought away. after all, i die in the morning. i should probably make the most of my last hours; ive done enough thinking in the latter half of my life.

i dont know or i cant remember what happens between then and now, when i am being led to the white room. it is a lethal injection facility. i know it should be a dark house with a wooden beam and a noose but this is my dream and since ive have been watching too much american tv for the last 7 years, in my dream, singapore carries out capital punishment via lethal injection. and thats final!

at this point standing in the doorway i remember scenes from a movie the green mile in which deathrow inmates struggle from their cell all the way to the kill bed and have to be strongarmed by six full-grown men, lashed down to the gurney with leather straps, and prepared for the needle. again i blink this away: hey, at least i can hold myself together better than that guy can... right?

probably.

i am bound to the gurney but for whatever reason my head isnt (dreams are rarely logical) , so i crane my neck to look down on myself. i realise im not getting out of this one. the technician injects the yellow water into my IV line and i see it flow down the tube towards my arm.

just before the chemical reaches my left median cubital the whole idea of death runs me over. within this last split second all these questions hit me: this would be my final end? no more touch, smell, taste, sight, hearing? no more family? no more friends? no more laughter? no more tears? no more writing? no more typing? no more thoughts? sans everything.

i dont want this! i dont want to die yet! I DO NOT WANT TO DIE. i thought i had come to terms with it. i thought i made myself ready; now i am nothing better than that guy in the movie that i scoffed at! i try to will my arm away from the incoming yellow chemical but its useless--i am completely bound. to fate. the last moment is too extreme even for my subconscious, and i wake,

heart pounding i can feel it in my ears, but undoubtedly it's still beating fine. i am alive.

"fuck, fuck..shit. FUCK!" am i...crying? i breathe some words into the pillow. "Jesus" was one of them. dreams never really affected me that much, except when i dreamt on a couple occasions some person(s) close to me had died. and ive probably died many times in multiple dreams before but today this is different.

this time's is no accident. it's not a trip-and-then-fall-from-15-stories death. it's not a stabbing from a kidnapper that appeared out of nowhere. its not from a car that speeds up from behind me. its not from the fangs of a huge snake that wont refuse to take its eyes off me. its something about being executed by the Law, that your killer is not really your killer, and that the blame for your imminent death can never be placed upon anyone else...except yourself. execution... is like suicide. yes i finally understand now. capital punishment is forcing a man to take his own life. the idea is abominable. after this dream ill never again see the death penalty in the same light. i retract what i said 9 (or 10) paragraphs ago. i cant possibly still be sitting on the fence of compromise for this one.

my heart hasnt slowed, and i feel drained. i feel stupid. did i delude myself into thinking i could be ok with accepting death only to start disintegrating at the last moment? one of my greatest fears is to one day learn that there is no such thing as an unregrettable decision, that careful contemplation is no more superior to spontaneous carpe diem, that in living my life i chose the wrong way. at the moment the only thing i can conceivably fear more than such a revelation would be to continuing walking that same wrong path despite knowing better. i laugh at that man and now i am him, and i change the road sign instead of make a turn. hypocrisy epitomised. i hope i die for real before that day comes.

heart pounding i can still feel it in my ears, but undoubtedly its still beating fine. my eyes have dried. i am alive. thanks for the second chance.