Morning of October 9, 1982. Saturday.
I am back in my Cubitis bedroom and become almost fully lucid but with a tentative, cautious awareness. For a time, I indulge in a lot of different self-created scenes involving several different girls, who, for the most part, just walk around enjoying themselves (no drugs, etc.) I also enjoy developing various geometrical shapes in a sense of new combinations, which eventually become “real inventions”. This is something I have done in the past; for example, a vacuum cleaner designed like a racing car for the most part, a heart-shaped toaster (for heart-shaped bread?) and so on.
At one point, I fall into an in-dream “habit” of being overly focused on various connecting planes at different angles (for example, a sofa, relative to the front at ninety degrees from the seat and how the arms are structured, the ninety degree outward perpendicular surfaces seeming to be some sort of intense stimulation). I also deliberately gaze into the eyes of one female to see if I can see anything “else”, but all I see are the sort of lightning-like patterns (and sometimes cilia-like forms) that make up the irises and the “oil” which makes up the pupils. Still, I see myself in the pupil, mirror-like, similar to looking into a Christmas tree ornament in terms of warping and detail.
Over time, there is an extraordinary amount of residual physical effects. I guess I am “finished” here, as it seems as if I have been “going” for days. However, there is one more dream character that seems to be “lurking” behind a doorway, and I see a pistol.
“Come outta there!” I sort of yell like a Brooklynite.
“You’re under arrest!” says the man tentatively.
Having no use at all for other “authority” in a dream, I do a hand motion and make him point the gun to his head and he struggles, saying “No, no, wait, I have something important to tell you!” Just as I am about to eliminate him, I pause, and give listen.
He starts talking to me about my father (who died on Valentine’s Day in 1979 as I had dreamed of exactly eleven years prior and even missed school because of the strange “overwhelming” dream that caused an odd illness at the time - the entire school making valentine cards for me - the eleven-year pattern that has occurred before but I am not sure it has anything to do with eleven-year solar cycles), using the musical notes E G B D (transformed as “Every Good Boy Dies” as on his headstone). I realize that there had been guilt at not having performed in public with my father at his last venue. This seems somewhat profound, especially as the last words I ever heard him say (not relative to his deathbed, but related to his last words to me when he went on stage) “I sure wish you’d come with me”. However, not feeling the connection at all to people that my father sometimes did (or seemed to), and not even liking to be looked at by ordinary people, I just did not seem able to. That was his last concert and in the middle, the very last words he said by report, “looks like you’re going to have to play the jukebox from now on”.
From there, I see that the policeman becomes sort of “shabby” with what I would now call “mosquito noise” as of the type seen in JPEGSs saved over too many times in lower quality each time. He also looks about half my size as do most authority figures in my dreams, even the Pope in one dream. He seems more relaxed with me, but as he is looking down at the floor, he says “It’s time for a new movie”, what I take to mean a release of any and all past guilt related to my father and how I was not with him in his last conscious moments - as he had in his own subtle way hinted at before leaving the house. The fact was, my “timing” was off - but I did know when he died later. I woke up at the exact moment, feeling very strange.
