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"Dread Manticore"

Morning of January 21, 2014. Tuesday.

I am on the second or third floor of a large old building, likely part residential and part commercial, seemingly on Third Street in La Crosse, the street (and seeing it from the same building) where, in 1991, a large group of teens turned over a police car and set it on fire after the Coon Creek Canoe Races. Over time, it seems much like my (half - on my mother’s side) brother Dennis’s old apartment, which I have not dreamed of that much (and presently have no online references to it yet). I am sitting at a desk near the window, which faces west. I seem to be working on some documentation of some kind, perhaps an educational report for state government (one is due soon in real life). I seem to be somewhat distracted, though, as if my mind is trying to clarify where I am, but in a very subtle way.

I hear about four teenage girls joking about on the street below. I think it is late afternoon. I look out and see they are looking up at “my” window. “Rasta rasta come out and play,” one says. None of them are familiar. "Oh no, he’s looking," says one, running off but in a playful manner. (I am not Rastafarian, by the way - though I strongly relate to and understand the concepts of the “Babylonian system”, though older-style dub reggae is some of the only music I can truly get into other than styles my father performed as well as wrote.)

Over time, I hear them talking and apparently planning or plotting something, but I am not sure what to make of it. I do not think they are left-over spectators of the canoe races. They seem to be “fans” of some sort, though I cannot quite make the connections and am not sure of their intent. I sit with my chin resting on my left hand, thinking.

“Come on, I came all this way and you’re not coming down? What are you doing up there?” It seems one is a “leader” of sorts.

I look out again, and am almost hit with a small package tied with a large blue ribbon that comes through the open window and lands on the desk. I read some writing on the package that clearly says “Dread” (supposedly addressed to me) and part of a note that says “Dear Dread”, which is interesting as the two words have the same letters. I am vaguely aware that I have dreadlocks, but only in a very loose sense and only a bit in back (my wife usually combs this out in a personal screaming session when my hair is pulled). I am not sure what to do. I had been working on yet another new style of dub with special types of frequency bands, but have not finished anything yet, due to my overly meticulous associations so far this year - even with inaudible phasing - nuances I often think of that most people do not even know exist. Curiously, these girls seem to know about my special abilities regarding sound manipulation, which only a very small number of people apparently know about if the huge amount of misinformation (even from “experts”) on the Internet is anything to go by. Still, it is hard to believe anyone younger could respect or understand that area of knowledge, so I am somewhat suspicious of their motives. I am also somewhat annoyed by their seeming lack of self-control in public.

These thoughts pass through my mind, rather than anything relative to lucidity or even having fun of any kind. (I do not directly notice any musical instruments in the room - there is nothing studio-like about the room as it is more like a home business office.) I open the rest of the package and find that it is a larger hand puppet that is apparently a manticore, although its head is more lion-like at first. I notice that the letter has some rather unusual but precise anagrams of “manticore”. Looking at the list, I see:

Romance It!
Man erotic!
Cream into!

All of these being anagrams of “manticore” seriously puzzles me as if it was by design somehow, but almost as if everything that exists is a potential path to a different meaning. Another girl (possibly a version of my wife) who appears to be some sort of very shy “live-in secretary” is sitting at another desk near the middle of the room. I am thinking of going through business letters that I need to check, but my mind is wandering and thinking of inter-dimensional polarity reversal in “key” areas. It is as if I “almost” know how to open a gate or portal by inverting certain linear patterns so that others are then extant. I am trying to work out “zero pairs” into the concept and cannot quite get it, probably because I am thinking in fifth-dimensional ways, which is impossible to resolve. I am thinking of layered XOR functions (almost like a “she loves me, she loves me not” series, trying to work out if the end result will be a positive variable or a negative one), but then dismiss it, as the universe is not a computer, so that would not work.

I put the manticore hand puppet on my right arm and admire the highly detailed homemade handiwork. It is soft and velvety and looks as if it cost a lot of money in special or rare materials. It also seems to have dreadlocks as a mane, but in a subtle way. I sense my wife as a shadow on the wall, but the “shadow” is white and somewhat glistening instead of black (recurring) - likely based on the concept of photographic negatives. She walks around “on” the wall (that is, a “shadow” without a visible source) and my mind starts wandering again in concepts of fractal geometry and what connects where and what “door” goes where. Meanwhile, I start to play around with the hand puppet, moving it a certain way, its lion face becomes more of a man’s face by some sort of rolling section of material. Moving its mouth by way of my hand motions inside the puppet, large rows of sharp “teeth” come out, resembling shark teeth - and I play about making its mouth open and close, watching the teeth sway about, which are a bit like plastic or real bone attached to the velvety material and row of silk to simulate the “lips”. I continue to look at the remarkable complexity of the puppet, still thinking of the skills it must have taken to make it, thinking that the girls may have good intentions and respect for me.

I decide to go downstairs, perhaps just to enjoy the outdoors or go for a walk. I put the puppet and letter on the desk. The cowardly lion from “The Wizard of Oz” touches my arm and says “D-D-Don’t go out there, d-duh, I wanna live, ehuh-ehuh…like dis…I don’t wanna see what’s out there”. I am annoyed by this “poor excuse for a lion/man” and say, slowly, going closer to his face, “Are you…supposed to be…Martha Washington?” and walk down the stairs. His sobbing becomes less audible behind me.

Four girls are on the staircase near the doorway. The main one says “My name is Micra. I’m the one who gave you the note.” (It dawns on me that “Micra note” is also an anagram of manticore.) “Hello Micra. Would you like to tell me what is going on?” She has orange “vibrating mirror” somewhat kaleidoscopic eyes (normally such eyes are more silvery and highly reflective in dreams). In fact, they all have orange eyes, and with the small black stripes of their irises, I am thinking of tigers, but not quite in a threatening way…Tangerine Dream has a song version of the poem, and it flows somewhere in the distance…

“Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?”

She (the main “tiger girl”) touches my arm and fire emerges. The fire does not hurt, but I see my skin peel away, turning curly and black, flaking off, to reveal a bluish light underneath with differing “fibers” of darker and lighter. It reminds me vaguely of those “pills” that you light, and ash grows out swiftly, forming an “ash snake” - they used them for cheap Fourth of July celebrations going by various names, I think, such as “Magic Black Snake”, “Cobra”, and “Python” - not only that, dreadlocks remind me somewhat of these “Magic Black Snakes” and my own “hair” is transforming as such. Eventually I fly up into the air moving over the street watching them run and wave, looking up. The entire environment starts to resonate and cracks like ice, sizzling in vertical wave-like patterns into crumbs of concrete and destroyed buildings and streets - and four smaller lights fly away in different directions, the scene somewhat like stage curtains self-pulling apart to reveal what is really behind it all, and at the same time, being a giant manticore’s mouth opening up (but very spectral, almost ice-like in appearance) and “letting me out”. I am vaguely aware of the concept of the phoenix. The “comet rain” (yet another manticore anagram) spreads and becomes more pastel-like.

My new “bat wings” carry me into a realm of stationary lights, somewhat abstract.

I fade into the real morning. My wife moans next to me, complaining about the heat.

“Cremation” is also an anagram of manticore…

Additional layers of association: An old Tommy Cash record with the song “Free Man”, including lines such as “The king of the jungle is a lion, but you kill his freedom once he’s in a cage” and “If you only want a puppet then go buy one, if that’s how it is then I can’t stay”. Another song was “Four Strong Winds” with the line “You could join me if I’d send you down the fare”. This was our original plan but I moved to Australia.

The four girls are the “four strong winds” of freedom, perhaps Earth, Air, Fire, and Water as well.

An episode of “Grimm” called “The Good Soldier” (season 3, episode 11) features the manticore, which I not only did not know of prior to the dream, it has not aired here in Australia yet…we only just saw the last episode of season 2 - I will count that as precognition (or remote viewing?). It is one of the only newer shows we watch.

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