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The Cozy Spot

8 posts categorized "Dreamscapes"

July 25, 2008

Dreaming in Blog Mode

It's only natural to have dreams that may reflect your daily activities. This morning, my blog post about the freaky Anonymous protesters entered my dream had nothing to do with the Martin Luther King Jr 'I have a dream' speech, but it somehow entered my dream state. It was more like 'Creeping Jesus, I have a freaky dream, get me out of here! Wake up!' type of dream.

I was in a public place that resembled a library, and news broke out that there were strange people in town. The gossip reached an eerie crescendo. Two librarians told visitors to stay inside. They brought out a portable television for all five of us to watch and the news was grim, with news broadcasters saying that authorities weren't sure of one thing - that of the strangers being human. "They have human enough bodies but their heads!" There I was, standing near the checkout desk remembering the original black and white film of The Fly, especially the end, where the Fly-man is caught in a spider's web and his half fly-human body struggling (and his squeaky voice saying, 'help me, help me!').

Silly things unfold in dreams, such as being incapable of sprinting from scary monsters. It's like slow motion, the 'heeeel-ppppp...m-eeeee,' accompanied by your brain saying, 'hurry up, fuck you!'

Back at the dream library, I see two men in suits, and they're not wearing white masks (like the freaky Anonymous protesters in my blog post),they're wearing something stranger than any fiction I've read. They remind me of robots except they're not mechanical. They have large black lens like attachments on their heads, so you can only see the glass, not the face behind it. They're hanging around outside the library door, looking in, and then I realize something else (the stupid thing that happens in dreams). The door isn't locked! I mean seriously! Get me the dream director! I think I have a horror movie director in my brain, you know the type, that always makes the female victim fall and sprain her ankle just as she's about to get out of the creepy house? That type of director.

Freak dude 1 enters the library and looks around, but he has the mask on so it freaks everyone out. I figure, that it's a lost cause anyway, so I may as well jump the freak to get out and find, to my surprise that he's a pushover - skinny (skinnier than me) and combat challenged (if a girl can whip his arse). In fact, he may be a metrosexual, because I grab his makeshift gun and aim it at him telling him he's going to get it first, followed by his mate outside. He doesn't move, but keeps giving me lens-filthies trying to scare the shit out of me so I yank off his mask and see a daggy looking guy that looks like a first year arts student and I don't know what pisses me off more, the fear he induced or his real identity, because I just shoot the pissant.

There is no bullet. There's no loud sound, but he winces like a little girl who just had her braids tugged. Then the second lens-dude enters and starts shooting me, and it stings. Yes it stings! And then I realize what's going on. What nerds, I think. They loaded their custom made weapon with acid, but it's diluted. It stings, but that's about it - until I see the dial beneath the weapon, and remember my chemistry.

You want strong asshole, here's strong, so I turn the dial to 1 - a pH of 1, and start shooting like a crazed teenager with an uber water gun. The first one cries out, 'ouch! that hurts,' and the second dude attempts to be Vincent Price (with a screechy voice), telling me, 'you'll never get out of here.' I tell him he's wrong, and keep on, until I woke.

What a crazy blog influenced dream!

Now you'd think that after all the sex stories I've written that I'd dream about sex stories. Why is God cruel to me? I don't know. Last week, I won 32 dollars in Powerball and if that's not cruel enough, this week I won a measly ten dollars (not enough to buy a packet of smokes for God's sake!). Talk about being taunted by an unknown power.

May 14, 2008

The Mental Wrestle

Dreams have been regarded as curious snippets of the mind for a long time. Ever since the Old Testament, in fact. Over time, our brains have been compared to a vestibule of repressed thought by Freud, and in the modern day, it’s not so much about the sex, and more about the way we process information. Others, like a few former psychology professors of mine, viewed dreams as the brain’s way to maintain itself: the dream being the result of brain maintenance, neurons firing and producing images as a result of ordinary maintenance, and that’s the thing about science. It’s so unromantic and bland. There are no larger meanings, and is there really anything wrong with adding meaning, and adding some exciting to ordinary phases in life?

A sex dream can be a micro holiday away from routine. Such dreams, or those which create a different kind of arousal, offer an alternate perception or one that is distant from the terrestrial or physical world that is wrought with minute insecurities. There are no follow up inquisitions about relationships, or the state of one’s life in the sense of achievements or upcoming goals. A dream is the here and now. There is no room for the past, and the future doesn’t exist. It’s like being swallowed up by the moment, and if sexual intimacy is part of that oneiric moment, it can be quite unlike waking life.

Then there are the symbols that manifest within dreams, symbols that represent the real corners or issues within our lives, and they can take on weird shape and form.

My workplace took a different form this morning. It morphed into a mutant sumo wrestler in a boxing ring. I underwent numerous exertions, flipping the gigantic lard arse in front of me, over and under. He huffed and shook his head. He was fucking huge, and the crowd oohed and ahhed. I tossed my damp hair back, and exalted the fresh coat of perspiration. I was getting in there, giving the monster a run for its money. Watching his blubber tremble as he hit the floor.

“Any more? This is getting boring,” I said.
“Both of us,” he replied.
Another person strode to the ring, ducked under the railings and smiled. He was sharp within his designer suit, and didn’t say a word. His eyes did all the talking. So I took them on, one after the next, and managed to inflict a few jabs in the right places. They stood, and I found it tiresome. How long could this go for?
“Both of us together…” said the over -inflated blimp.
And then I knew I’d reached my limit. I also knew their cunning way. One would take me on, and the other would snap my neck from behind. And for what?
I gazed at them, and kicked off my shoes.
“You know something? Fuck you and fuck this. I’m over it,” I said, and made my way past them. They stood, silent and quite perplexed at my decision to walk out on them. It wasn’t a matter of ‘how dare she do that?’ Their pea brains were still interpreting the moment. They were in slow motion.

In the locker room, I entered the toilet cubicle, sat and sighed. I felt at ease, but something dear to me reanimated itself. I was pregnant. This I knew. And being pregnant within a dream can reflect another part of life, or a nascent ribbon of life. Perhaps it’s the next stage of life, that the brain can only explain by simple symbolism - pregnancy.  I also noticed that I started spotting, which triggered an alarm bell. I needed to take a backseat, walk away from the ring and rest. So I walked out, content in abandoning the wrestling ring and my contenders.

April 20, 2008

Dreaming in Pornocolor or Oneiric Interruptus

I like sex dreams. I really do. I like them even more if I reach an orgasmic conclusion (that automatically jerks my nerves, forcing my eyes to flutter open and greet the morning), but I have had kooky dreams and I have had the ordinary go-through-motions sex.

Sex dreams are curious developments. It is only after you have a really weird sex dream that you wonder why your brain put together imagery that you wouldn't normally entertain in your waking hours. My odd dreams include giving the most unsavory people blowjobs. My ugly top three include the deep throat I gave to an eeky boss, a girl-girl scene with the bag lady in my neighborhood and a reverse cowgirl with an ex dentist. I would open my eyes and interrogate myself, to find few answers, and roll through the remainder of the day (hoping and praying I would dream of someone more appealing).

Freaky dreams have included my older (and quite handsome) half-nephew, whom I met in my late twenties, and that dream I can understand. Our first meeting wasn't an ordinary 'aunt and nephew' meet and greet. We didn't know each other. There we were at the family barbecue, with me drinking beer after beer (the 22 year family reunion scared the crap out of me), and my eyes hovered over him and I thought, 'well hello!' I almost wet my pants when I noticed his validating eyes. We engaged in a game of optic tennis; volley after volley, we couldn't get enough until his father (my half brother) introduced us and the beer in my tummy turned to vinegar. How many sex dreams followed after that? Many, and I enjoyed each and every one. In dreams there is no real guilt, and you know it's a dream, so you can live out something that would repel you in your wakeful life. My dream intensity is proportional to the state of my bedsheets. Creased sheets are a five on the oneiro-fuckometer, and full scale dishevelment means that the oneiro-fuckometer has been replaced by the Richter scale (my -fitted- bottom sheet has come away from the mattress, and is wrapped around my ankles).

Lately my libido has taken a backseat. I go through days and I don't consciously think of my libido. Some days I sit there being a guy (channel surfing). And then there are random days that see the odd phenomenon arise in REM mode.

I dream in the same way I view porn. I fast forward to all the good bits. There will be a handsome (hot, interesting, sexy) dude in my dream, and our eyes will meet for a few seconds, and then we get our freak on. On the floor, against a door, in the bathtub, or on a raggedy old sofa. It doesn't matter. It's always orgasmic. Isn't it weird how the most ordinary places make no difference to the final - orgasmic- outcome in a dream? In dreams props aren't needed. It is much like having hypersonic hearing, except the auditory aspect is substituted with sexual arousal, and wooo right there.

This morning I was all hot and bothered in a dream. It didn't involve much XXX rated action. I merely shook the handsome stranger's hand, and I was off. I knew clothes would be stripped away, and just as my excitement climbed over the first hurdle, my bedroom door opened and the first thing I heard was:

"Mum! Where is my Nintendo DS?"
"H...Wha...?"  (I did say, 'fuck!' but that unfolded in my head a few seconds later - delayed reaction).

Life is fun with kids. Everyone always hears about how kids alter a person's sex life (or wakeful  life), but no one tells you that they interrupt sex dreams. But yeah, they do...demons.

I could only reply with one word (or two): "No (hellspawn!)!"

May 13, 2007

"One Second Before Awakening from a Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate"

"...I was sitting writing on my textbook, but the work did not progress; my thoughts were elsewhere. I turned my chair to the fire and dozed. Again the atoms were gamboling before my eyes. This time the smaller groups kept modestly in the background. My mental eye, rendered more acute by the repeated visions of the kind, could now distinguish larger structures of manifold conformation; long rows sometimes more closely fitted together all twining and twisting in snake-like motion. But look! What was that? One of the snakes had seized hold of its own tail, and the form whirled mockingly before my eyes. As if by a flash of lightning I awoke; and this time also I spent the rest of the night in working out the consequences of the hypothesis." - Friedrich August Kekulé von Stradonitz

There aren’t many words in the English language that capture the totality of disappointment. They try, and they all fail miserably; disappointment is multi-coloured, like a chameleon that changes its shade according to its mood, which depends on its chemical response to things such as danger. Adversity is a strong word, and it often features disappointment, except that the disappointment associated with adversity is like a freight train. One disappointment after another collide, like pieces of flesh. They all hit a wall, and splatter, creating one hell of a mess that slides down to the floor. Adversity is grotesque, and the polar opposite of success or contentment.

Dali2It’s easy to touch upon adverse moments in life during the writing process. The addition of a few sentences, to illustrate a point, can act like a time machine to tickle the subconscious; this morning I awoke from a sex fuelled dream, except that it was far from pleasurable. The sex was calm and contained, but the act of kissing sounded a subconscious alarm bell that had my eyes snap open. Dream symbolism is interesting. Many psychologists and psychiatrists have worked extensively to nut out the subconscious realm of dreams in a bid to figure out the human mind. The most noted researchers, Freud and Jung, put together bodies of work to support their dream theories. Yet these theories aren’t sufficient in explaining the way that one files the symbol one creates.

The act of kissing has various definitions, depending on which dream lexicon one consults. Kissing, for me, denotes finality. It can be anything: a phase, work, or personal relationships. It essentially defines one door closing, often permanent, and its appearance in my dream state has a tendency to unnerve me. I’m not comfortable with sexual dreams involving kissing; caressing and intercourse are easier to deal with, whereas kissing adds a terminal edge that unsettles me. In past dreams I’d see the act, and as with all dreams, I’d be the participant and observer. Dreams are odd in the way they splice the consciousness into two halves. It’s impossible to be the participant and objective observer in everyday – wakeful – life, whereas a dream tends to suspend the conscious so that it is unaffected by its environment. Things such as emotions are more acute within a dream, and one is more susceptible to dreamlike stimulation; it can be why sexual arousal feels so much more different within the dream state.

Now for the dream…

Continue reading ""One Second Before Awakening from a Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate"" »

April 17, 2007


Love, within dreams, its sensation or perceived sensation - the result of our most intimate secrets, secrets that lie within ourselves - overwhelms, transcending the physical. Each touch is magnified a thousandfold, and a gaze obliterates the passage of time. Eternity lies within the burst of REM, that tiny phase that makes up the smallest percentage of our waking day.

To awaken, after such a dream...


The security within the dream, as one hand envelope's the hand of the other, transcends everyday reality where security is dependent - whether consciously acknowledged or not - on an extrinsic set of factors: finance, appearance, occupation....bullshit.

It's within the dream that I feel snug, like nothing can tumble through to crack the surface, and my skin, warmed with the lightest touch, transforms into a true skin - not the type I wear on a daily basis, that's evaluated like I'm some sort of...product, with a use by date. Each caress leaves a silk trail that relaxes my pulse; each joint loosens and deep within, inside the bony cage I'd call my chest (in my waking day), I turn to mush...floating, as my thoughts lighten, and doubt ceases to exist. He is identical to me, and so, within the dream everything else (wars, news, egos, work) ceases to matter.

March 30, 2007

the Dream Censor

The scene, perfect, within one of those olde social clubs, the type where men sip mint juleps or something. He wore white, and I was as horny as hell.

Right! I think, within the dream, and give him the long stare, the kind that burns into his eyes before the facial gestures move in for the kill. I walk past his side ofthe bar, he looks up and we share that moment, the one where two people are implicitly aware of the fact that their loins are meant to dance - in private.

I wait at the doorway, and a few seconds - that feel like moments - drip past, and impatience needles me. I take another peek, and burn a hole through his head; he gets the picture, rises, and I mentally prepare for the ride. He follows me, we're walking toward this limousine, and get in...and what the hell? My subconscious cut the dream in rolled into something else, and I thought...'nooooooooooooo', the one you hear in slow motion recaps...

I then found myself in a shopping mall.

December 10, 2006

Dreamfucks & Everyday Life

Sunday morning, for me, is all about masturbation. Others spend it in church, I let my fingers do the walking, and today I had good reason to. I don’t know what I’ve switched on up top, but I’m not complaining. Everything comes in threes, in the realm of REM, I’ve managed to score three REM sexual thrills this week alone, and I hope I’m not jinxing it by being so thrilled with this during my wakeful state.

The brain has an inbuilt editor; logic hides away, and the Id comes out to play, heading right into that pleasure zone.

In this morning's dreamscape I was ushered straight through the departure gate to board my flight, and arrived on the other side, only to have a couple of sour looking femmes ask me ten million questions, eyeing me like I’m a terrorist:

“Where’s your photo ID?”

Then it hits me. Where is my ID? I know that it’s not going to be easy. The first female, a hardened veteran, screws up her face and sweetly tells me that I won’t be going anywhere, while the second regards me with a sneer.

“In this country, you’re supposed to have photo ID,” says the first one, a woman in her mid to late thirties, boasting a tight perm circa Eighties. So I tell her that I’m aware of that, it’s just slipped my mind.

“Slipped your mind?” says the other. They both laugh, and I feel like I’m in primary school all over again:

We eat Australian food in this country. What’s that wog shit?

They ask me where I’m from, and I laugh, asking them if they can detect my Aussie accent.

“Yeah but your parents aren’t from here,” says Miss Perm, her eyes smiling at her cohort.

Anticipating the direction of the conversation, I use my age-old line; similar to the one’s from kindergarten to age 12:

“At least they didn’t arrive here in ball and chains,” and I wait for them to inhale the scent of my contempt, relieved (during this little REM moment) that I didn’t walk into the arrivals area wearing a headscarf.

Continue reading "Dreamfucks & Everyday Life" »

REM Sexscape

Parapraxis refers to unleashing subconscious thoughts. It’s like letting one ‘rip’, like the unexpected fart that blurts from one’s butt cheeks during mass or something. The term, first used by Sigmund Freud, is commonly known as the Freudian slip, and the last time I consciously made one of those I was giving a speech at school assembly, talking about an upcoming fund raising dance that was being held, and saying, ‘our previous five dances were su-sex-ful.’ I was in year 9 at the time, and God knows why it came out, but it did, and let me tell you, I wasn’t dancing on the inside, I was freaking out in front of the entire school knowing that I said sex aloud while the school officials were seated behind me.

There are other terms Freud used, that referred to dreams, but they don’t come to mind right now, but I made a Freudian slip Saturday morning. The other odd thing about the dream, which ended up being a hot and sweaty scenario, was that it featured someone I hardly knew. Usually it’s a case of having someone known in the dream, either someone I’ve been with, or someone I can’t stand – the extreme opposite, like the time I dreamt that I gave a former work toff a blowjob – and last of all, a dream may feature a celebrity.

This week I got lucky, I had two hot dreams; the first wasn’t anything to write home about because itTillamateur_072 unfolded during a workday, which is the worst type of day to have any kind of sex dream due to the dreaded alarm clock. So no, I didn’t get to screw this guy (pictured) but I did manage to rub up against him a couple of times (I think Till Lindemann made a guest appearance in my dream, not that I minded, because I’ve been listening to a lot of Rammstein this week.)

Saturday morning offered something more. There was no alarm clock, and for once it was like a continual sequence, with no spliced scenes.

I was queuing up to get inside some stadium for a concert, and although there were no posters, there was this guy sitting next to me who had to be at least a decade younger than me. Medium built, with tousled brown hair, he was someone I had no recollection of after waking, but our conversation began about music, a lot ike:

Continue reading "REM Sexscape" »

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