Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Dream Capture has moved to http://dreamcapture.diaryland.com. I've switched ISPs and soon all the graphics in the archives (which Pitas does not allow you to touch) will disappear. I never liked that Pitas archives didn't change when you altered your layout, and that you couldn't edit any archived entries if you found a mistake or wanted to delete an entry. So, it is finally done. All dreams have been transferred to the new blog.

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Venger Hosts The Wind Demon
Thursday, May 8, 2008

I had been summoned by a wind demon, possibly to help it. Venger had allowed it to manifest itself at his castle. Seems it was the only one of its kind, and believed I was the only one who could aid it. I think it wanted desperately to take a permanent human form. I know it at least wanted to tell me something.

Dante (of Devil May Cry) was there. I think his twin brother, Vergil, was there, too, but I can't be sure. I think he (or they) got there before me, wanting to slay the wind demon. When I got there, they looked ready for battle, edgy even. I took it that Venger must have insisted they wait until I had had a chance to try to communicate with it.

We all stood in a circular stone courtyard, the wind demon in the very center. It was near dusk. The sky was absolutely beautiful reds and purples fading into the blackness of night.

I stood before the wind demon, saying nothing. It stirred at my presence, became near frantic. Black in all forms, it changed from something stone-like to a sandstorm, and then to like a liquid ribbon. It turned itself back into the sandstorm and tried to form a face. It tried until it was tired and could try no more.

For some reason, this was traumatizing for me. The next thing I remember is Venger escorting me back to the courtyard when I was well enough to face the wind demon again. We were arm in arm. He did not rush me. My well-being seemed his only concern as we walked.

Then my cousin was there. She wore loose, black clothing, and her blonde hair was tied back in a tight ponytail. She walked up and stopped in my path, looking at me, accusingly, as though I had faked being so distraught just to get Dante's (or Vergil's) attention and sympathy.

I couldn't deal with her right then. I turned to Venger and, as though he read my mind, he lifted and carried me past her.

It felt so good to be in his strong arms. I felt the world could not touch me as long as he held me. I rested my head against his chest.

The last thing I remember is standing again before the wind demon as it tried again to form a face in his swirling black particles.

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Death Before Dishonor (Devil May Cry)
Sunday, April 13, 2008

I was home, and my cousin and Dante were visiting. My cousin was sitting at the dining room table, talking to some other people, and Dante was sitting on the living room floor, doing something with his guitar.

Someone handed me a large sealed envelope. I opened it. It was from Vergil. It was a collection of letters, journal pages, pictures, videos, music, and other odds and ends. I knew then that he was dead.

I couldn't let my cousin know about this envelope. She was madly in love with Vergil, and I was certain she'd tear the whole thing out of my hands and run with it if she knew. I didn't want any of it scattered, mixed up, or lost. I needed time to study what he'd entrusted to me, in the order that he had arranged it.

I skimmed a journal page. He wondered how my life was going, mentioned me by name. (To be true to the dream, he also wondered what my ex-sister's life was like now. He wrote of how he found her on many online games, but never made contact with her.)

I played the video on the TV in the living room. Dante retrieved his guitar strap from a table across the room, and then sat down in front of the TV to fasten it. As I watched the video of Vergil, I glanced several times at him to see if he was watching his brother on the screen. He was, but his face betrayed no emotion. I wondered if he had any feeling at all at what had happened to his twin. I couldn't tell.

The video played scenes in reverse order. The first thing shown was Vergil, dead, and lying on a bed covered with pictures and scraps of paper. The whole room was littered with pictures and squares of paper. Vergil was still young, but had aged a number of years since the business with Arkham. He wore the same outfit, but it was very worn, even threadbare in patches. He was also sickly thin, and his hair had been falling out.

There was a rewind effect of an indeterminate amount of time, and next I was watching Vergil literally crawling out of bed and onto the brown rug, nearly dragging himself to a coffee table. It seemed there was something he had to check in a stack of books and papers. He was obviously in pain, and it was painful to watch. He could barely get his legs to move, and he was out of breath with the extra effort of his arms pulling him along.

Next was a desert scene, in which hooded monks secured a massive stone lid atop an underground tomb with heavy rusted chains. This was Vergil's prison.

Dante asked how Vergil could have let himself be captured like that. I knew that these monks were known for their persecution of demons. But I doubted Vergil had known that. My theory was that Vergil went into that desert, believing there was something there, some buried object, that could increase his power. He had probably encountered the monks and either asked for help, or threatened them. And they had probably outnumbered and overpowered him without speaking a word.

There was hope. I was flying through the air at an impossible speed, a blurred streak in the sky aiming for Nero. As I flew by him, I ripped Yamato from his back and sliced off his demonic arm, Devil Bringer, taking both. With these, I believed I could resurrect Vergil.

Nero was dripping blood from his arm. Kyrie was trying to tend it as Credo questioned him about his attacker.

Then I was back at home, in my kitchen with Nero and my cousin and some other people. Nero was hungry after losing so much blood. He wanted either a sandwich or some ice cream. I took a bowl of chocolate ice cream from my refrigerator and placed it on the counter top. I had placed it too close to my cousin; Nero wasn't sure if it was meant for him or not. I told him it was for him and he was very thankful. He loved chocolate ice cream.

My cousin asked me why Vergil had starved to death, since the monks had been giving him food.

I answered by simply asking her if she remembered what she had said in the past about Vergil being the "death before dishonor" sort. Then, she understood.

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Petrus AKA Peter Steele
Tuesday, April 8, 2008

I was an agent from another world, sent to find Petrus. "It" was coming, the nameless evil, and it was prophesied that only Petrus could vanquish it.

I found him. Here, he was the lead singer of Type O Negative, and was called Peter Steele. I was at a TON concert. He came out onto the stage, obviously drunk, and, tapping the microphone, he asked, "Is this thing on?" I wondered if he sensed the coming evil. I felt he should, because he was a Goth, and Goths could sense such things. (Everyone knew that!)

When the concert was over, it was impossible to follow him. I found TON's U-shaped, post-concert party trailer. There were security guards posted at its door. With my mind, I suggested they leave. All but one left, his mind better guarded than the others'. Strengthening my mental suggestion, I approached this one and gently pushed him away from the trailer. He wandered off, confused.

Inside the trailer were girls dressed in every gothic style. Dressed in black and maroon myself, I didn't draw attention. I looked around, saw a couple members of the band, Johnny and Kenny. They were drunk, high, and covered with groupies. I asked a girl where I could find Petrus. She had no problem with the name, she knew immediately I was referring to Peter. She told me he was on the other side of the trailer, but that I shouldn't go looking for him. He already had his groupies with him and didn't want to be disturbed. I was already down the hall as she gave her warning.

I found Petrus with three girls on him. All four were dressed. I walked right over to him and said, "Petrus, I have to talk to you." Perhaps it was the seriousness of my tone, but he eased his girls back, and rose. We walked out into the hallway, and I got a better look at him. His eyes were bloodshot, his lids were drooping, and he was sweating. He wore a dark olive tank top, black leather jacket, and black jeans.

I told him he had to come with me. He said something incoherent. "It's coming, Petrus," I told him, and realized it wouldn't make sense to him. "It's coming," I repeated with emphasis. Surely, he had felt it. He was Petrus, a Goth, and not from this world, but from mine. I shouldn't have to spell it out for him!

He leaned close to me and muttered something suggestive probably a play on the word, "coming." I gave him a hard look and said in a rather disgusted tone, "Get dressed." (He was dressed, but I doubted he wanted to go in those clothes.)

I walked away, heading outside to wait for him. He followed me. I was standing outside and he was leaning out the door, looking around. He asked me how we were leaving. He didn't see a vehicle.

I reached in my left pocket and pushed a button on a remote. A vehicle that looked like a Humvee with glossy black armor uncloaked itself in the corner of the yard. I had his attention, now. The sight of this sobered him. Seeing that he was more than impressed, I told him I'd let him drive it if he agreed to come with me. He told me to wait and disappeared inside.

His three groupies stuck their heads out a window and yelled, "Hey, Raven!" to get my attention. They shouted taunts and insults at me. I ignored them. I was wondering what Petrus would think of the truck. I considered it more a living beast than a vehicle.

He was taking a long time. When he finally came out, I saw that it was a shower that had added the time. We were walking toward the truck when he suddenly stumbled and swayed. I grabbed him one hand to his back, one to his chest.

"What is it?" I asked.

He looked fearful. "I can't hear anything."

It was all the drugs he used earlier. I had to get him to the truck. I pointed toward it to get him moving. He got in the driver's seat. On the passenger side, I pulled a laptop from the dashboard. I typed something, and then drew out a syringe from its side. I held it up to him. It was full of clear fluid. He moaned a complaint, and then threw his head back and cringed as I pushed the needle into his tattooed right arm. A few seconds later, he was restored, clear-headed. He was amazed.

He was driving us down a road, and suddenly reached his arm across me. It seemed he was trying to playfully annoy me. To throw him off, I began sniffing his hand, his arm, the crook of his elbow, and then up to his armpit, shoulder, and neck.

"There's no scent to you. You're too clean," I told him. I looked away as though I found him entirely uninteresting. I knew he was smiling at me, understanding that I was playing in return.

We drove into the night. The dream was going vague. At one point, I told him to turn right. Later, he complained that he was too tired for the long drive. I told him to get in the back and sleep, I would fly us the rest of the way. "All this time, and now you finally tell me this thing can fly?" I answered that we hadn't been cleared to fly before then.

Then we were walking a dirt path between three white buildings. It was day. The sun was bright, and the greenery around us was sparse, but pretty. He walked a few steps ahead of me. Suddenly, he asked if I remembered the girls who had been with him. I said that I did, and then he warned me that if they ever saw me again, they would probably try to tear me apart for tearing him away from them.

"Shall I have to kill them?"

He nodded. "Yes."

I could tell that he thought I was kidding, and only said yes to convey that I might be forced to defend myself.

I smiled. "It shall be fun! Sporting fun!"

He glanced back at me, looking slightly unsettled.

"I'm sorry," I said. "But my people enjoy killing."

He changed the subject, mentioning how the truck had looked different when he got in it at the trailer than it had when he first saw it. I had wondered if he'd noticed. He hadn't even acted like he had. It now looked like a glossy black city utility truck, complete with gold seals on its doors.

"How do you say it on this world? Camouflage? Camouflage."

He took another couple steps before it hit him. He turned to me. "What do you mean, 'on this world'?"

I can't remember what exactly I told him. I think I admitted I was from a different planet, but I don't think I told him he was from my world, also. Actually, the whole dream was becoming vague.

I remember that I took him to meet with a scientist I'd brought to Earth with me. Finding and defeating the evil being seemed to have been forgotten by this point.

The next thing I remember is taking him back to his trailer. Whatever adventure we'd had was over, and he wanted to go home. I wished he would let me take him back with me. His existence was being wasted on this world.

He didn't want me to run into his groupies. He told me to get inside and run to his room with him. The girls did see us and chased us all the way there. He got to the room first. They were right behind me as I shut the door and locked it. One banged on the door, but then they left.

Petrus was lying on the bed. He was in a t-shirt and blue jeans, and his hair was tied back. He wanted me to lie on the bed with him. I had only come inside with him because I still wanted to convince him to leave with me.

My mission seemed to have changed. I remembered about the evil being, but that wasn't important anymore. I was there with the scientist to collect his sperm to take back to our world. Our people were dying off. We needed fresh DNA, his specifically, to restore our populations.

He suddenly climbed on top of me. I could feel his erection pushing against his jeans. I pulled myself out from under him, telling him to save it for the lab. I told him I had to get him to the medical facilities on Geidi Prime. (A little Dune getting in there.) He finally agreed, and started gathering what he wanted to take with him. I got his boots for him. (I only mention this because his boots were clear, completely transparent.) It was going to be my job to get us past the aggressive groupies, but I had no problem with that. And that's where it ended.

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The Spice of Culinary Life
Wednesday, December 5, 2007

I was a student at an elite culinary school where Chef Robert Irvine taught about a dozen aspiring chefs.

It was understood among us students that Chef Irvine had four or five favorites. And of these, he had two top favorites myself and another girl. Most of the students believed that she and Robert had something going on, but I never cared for gossip.

One day, I decided I'd rather be a writer than a chef. All the years I'd put into learning the art of cooking and I suddenly wanted an entirely different career. Robert was understandably disappointed. He'd spent a lot of time helping me develop my skills and had high hopes for me.

Also, there was a competition going on. We had all split into groups of four or five and had to plan and prepare a five-star, five-course meal to be presented in 5 or 6 days' time. I would be leaving my group a cook short. I regretted this, but I simply couldn't stay. I had made up my mind and felt that any more time spent at the school would be a waste, and unfair to others.

Only a few days after I left, I re-thought my decision. I knew kitchens, I knew cooking. I had the references to work the best restaurants and make good money. I didn't know anything about writing. My future was assured in the kitchen. So, I called Robert to ask if I could come back, and he was very happy that I had changed my mind. He mentioned that he'd put my name on his bulletin board. I wondered what he meant by this, but didn't ask.

When I got back to the school, I went straight to his office. He wasn't there, but I checked the board. Sure enough, he'd written my name in all caps in sky blue marker. Still I couldn't see a reason for it. It was just my name.

I went to the kitchen to check in with him before getting into uniform. He was overjoyed to see me. He really made a spectacle of it. Then he hugged me. I didn't think anything about it until his hands started roaming. It was way too affectionate even for a welcome-back embrace. Then, he began nibbling my neck. I knew I should pull away, but it felt too good. I'd never imagined such a situation before, but I liked it. I became so caught up in the sensation that I bit his neck in return.

Suddenly, the girl who was his other top favorite fell to her knees, sobbing. A friend was standing over her trying to comfort her. It was difficult to make out her words, but I finally understood that she was devastated that Robert was cheating on her. They had obviously had something going on after all.

The longer he watched the girl's emotional breakdown, the more unsettled he became.

"It's happening all over again! I'm doing it again! No! I can't let this happen again! What's wrong with me!" he started shouting.

I suddenly knew what was going on. Ten years before, he had been a cooking instructor at another school. Authorities raided the school one night and exposed a harem of female students that Robert had collected. All those girls even knew about each other, hung out together, had orgies with him. After that, he was banished from teaching and ordered to undergo psychiatric treatment. Now, ten years later, he was believed cured and was finally getting a second chance to teach. But being around all the new females in the school caused him to suffer a relapse. He had already begun a sexual relationship with the one, and I was the next one on his list.

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The Wraith Gate
Tuesday, May 8, 2007

It was a beautiful, sunny day, and I was purposely trespassing in a large cemetery bordering a field of tall cornstalks, all enclosed by a 6-foot tall privacy fence of greying wood. There were two men there, the landowner and the caretaker.

The landowner was a very handsome gentleman whose style of suit and black jacket made him look like he came out of late 19th century high society. He had stunning blue eyes and thick golden hair that framed his face in bold waves. A very striking man. I'd guess he was around 40 years old.

The caretaker was a guy I met shortly after high school, named T.J. He was dressed simply in jeans, t-shirt, and a long-sleeved flannel shirt of black and white plaid. His hair was dark and very short like stubble after a shave. He looked the same as years ago, age 19 or 20.

I watched him working through a gap in the fence. I'd guess he was about 30 yards away, outside the cemetery's wall. He was raking or shoveling, I couldn't tell. I waited until he looked up. The landowner was with him; he looked up, too. I waved when I was sure my old acquaintance recognized me. Then, I turned around and walked into the rows of cornstalks, disappearing from their view, fading in a white, smoke-like fog.

The fog was a trick. I created it by imagining white powder being blown behind me. I wanted to disappear, leaving them believing they'd seen a ghost in the cemetery/cornfield. As soon as I knew I couldn't be seen, I ran for it. I had a feeling they wouldn't be scared away by a ghost, and sure enough, they both came running to investigate.

I knew there were access doors along the fence that the men believed only they knew of. One I had to abandon because T.J. had anticipated my direction and was on the other side of it as I got there. I ran to a different door, but he was too close again. When I thought I'd lost him, I didn't chance another door; I jumped the wall and landed atop thick, strong hedges that wouldn't let me fall to the ground and out of sight. T.J. was there, too, and I started to bolt, but he was telling me to stay down. I was confused. I started to move one more time, but he warned me that his boss would see me. It seemed he simply wanted to keep me out of trouble since he knew me.

By the time I decided to let him help me and try to stay hidden, it was too late. The older man had seen me. I slowly looked up to meet his eyes as he looked at me from over the fence. He was handsome with an inhuman beauty. It seemed with only a slight change of expression he could have appeared just as much a demon as an angel. I was transfixed.

I don't know what I expected to happen at that point, but it surely wasn't what followed. The secret doors to the cemetery were significant, I suddenly realized. They were marked by some power relating to death, and I was beside the last one that was still "unbound." They were gates of some kind, and the handsome owner of the cemetery had the power to bind a soul, of one living or dead I believe, to each one. And this was a great honor, an eternal honor, and one this man was granting to me.

I couldn't believe it. I turned to T.J. and asked him if this door was truly the last unbound one, and he said yes. The way he looked at me . . . his eyes were full of reverence as though he saw me as one being favored by gods.

The mark on the door was simple enough. A tall white rectangle with a magenta circle low and the word "Wraith" in a fancy magenta lettering above it. It was "The Wraith Gate." (That is so clear in my mind. It seems the vividest thing of the dream.)

I had to go through a binding death ceremony first. The man took me into a room and I lay in an open polished black coffin. There was a feminine form above me. A crude, faceless mannequin like something from the video game, Silent Hill 2, but clean. She held up her arm and stretched out her hand, the whole limb made of wooden shapes, and "spoke" a death litany. (I could hear the words in the dream, but couldn't remember them when I woke up.) But then another . . . thing, male this time, walked up and said he knew a more appropriate ceremonial death litany and went straight into reciting it. I couldn't tell if anyone in the room objected to this intrusion. The interruption was allowed and the man was still reciting when the dream ended.

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Snape's Gun
Saturday, April 21, 2007

Severus Snape had escaped with Harry Potter, and they were on the run with a third person in a patchy forest in broad daylight. The third person was a woman with long blond hair pulled back in a tight pony tail, and wearing a black catsuit. She was something different than a wizard, but with very similar powers. And she and Severus had some kind of relationship beyond friendship.

They stopped, and Severus and the woman exchanged words. Suddenly, she bolted and Severus was chasing her. It seemed he'd discovered that she was only pretending to be their ally, and he couldn't let her get away.

Knowing she could counter most curses, he sent a glossy black gun after her. It flew through the air, firing shots at her repeatedly, but she redirected the bullets using thought. But as the gun closed in on the back of her head, it was becoming more and more difficult for her to send the bullets astray. The closer the gun, the less time she had to think the bullet off its course. Fractions of a second mattered.

Eventually, she faltered, and a bullet hit the back of her left calf. She fell to the ground and Severus was able to catch up. (I wish I could visually share this next small move because Snape was so smooth.) When he stopped, his face as passive as ever, he deftly reached out, never taking his eyes from the woman, and curled his fingers around the gun, which had been waiting in the air in such perfect position that Severus' hold of it was as natural as if he had held it there the whole time.

The gun was aimed at the woman's face, and her expression was a mixed one of both disbelief and fear. It was obvious that she hadn't believed any wizard capable of besting her. But Severus had proven her wrong, and she now believed he would fire.

The scene changed and it was night. They had made camp in a clearing in the forest. Harry was watching the woman, now their prisoner, while Severus was away. Severus had taken her wand and left the gun hovering, keeping a relative position pointing at the back of her head as she moved.

They were quiet. She lay on the ground and watched Harry as he sat on a log by the fire. He only glanced at her now and then, but always kept her in sight. He knew she couldn't run away.

Finally, she spoke to him. I don't know what she said, but the words were clever enough to trick him into giving her his wand. She immediately used it to create a shimmering, blue-tinted shield around her head and shoulders so that this area of her body couldn't be shot. She was about to try to flee, but Severus returned, reclaimed the gun, and took aim at her forehead.

The woman was on the ground, propped up on her elbows, looking smugly at Severus. Apparently, she thought he couldn't shoot her because of her shield. But he moved closer, slowly, and pushed the gun right through her defense, shocking her for the second time that day. And that's all I remember.

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Chance (Knight Rider)
Saturday, April 21, 2007

From a ground-level point of view, I saw Kitt dig his tires into the rocky dirt road and swing himself around 180 degrees, throwing rocks and dust. Something had just gone wrong. Something unexpected, unanticipated. A miscalculation, perhaps. Whatever the case, Devon had somehow been knocked down and Kitt was certain the fault was his. Bad judgment, bad maneuver, bad something.

Later, still overcome with guilt, Kitt refused to come out of a garage at Knight Industries. He also refused to talk to anyone. Someone (vague impression of Michael Knight) suggested to Devon that he may be able to get through to him. Devon had made a quick and full recovery, and had never blamed Kitt for the accident.

I saw the door to the garage along a long hallway that exited outside. It was a dark brown metal door with a spherical silver knob and small cross-patterned window. Devon went in and closed the door behind him.

The setting changed and Devon was in his kitchen cooking supper fried chicken. The door leading outside from the kitchen was wide open and Kitt was parked at the entrance as they talked. They were discussing the accident and Kitt said something about "chance." Devon stopped and leaned against a wall as if an epiphany had struck him.

"I had forgotten about that," he said. (I felt he was about to add, "when I programmed you," but he didn't.)

"Forgotten about what?" Kitt asked.

"Chance," said Devon. "You've chanced to let me live two or three times. Would you kill me now because your logic circuits say I should be dead?"

"Of course not!"

There was a pause.

"You also chanced to fall in love with Rana," Devon added. (Hey, the dream allowed me a part!)

Kitt hesitated. "Yes."

Another pause.

"Speaking of Rana, she's being released today, in about 15 minutes or so." Devon looked at a clock. "And I told the hospital you'd be there to pick her up." (I remember it was 4:49p, and Rana (me, and yet not me) was supposed to be released from the hospital at 5:10p.)

Kitt immediately turned around and headed for the hospital.

The last thing I remember is being in Devon's kitchen actually "in" the dream for the first time. I think Devon was setting the table. I was distracted because I wanted to be outside spending time with Kitt, but at the same time, I also wanted to have dinner with Devon. I wished we could all sit at the table together.

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With Venger, After the Gathering
Sunday, April 1, 2007

[I do not know why I haven't added this one until now. I dreamed it on Sept. 10, 2006.]

Venger was standing beside a woman, and they were about to fight a larger-than-life robotic dinosaur.

The dream changed. I saw Venger with a strange device strapped to his abdomen. It was thick and circular with three wide spokes. In its large, smooth, central crystal, I could see the shoreline of some alien world as though looking through a window. I knew it was some sort of gateway.

The dream changed again and became more coherent. I was sitting in the back passenger side of a car that was in line with others, waiting to leave. Cars were slowly and carefully making their way down the high hill from where we had all gathered on the sparsely wooded, flat hilltop. It was autumn. The ground was hard and covered with brown and tan leaves, but many red and orange leaves still clung to the oaks.

And it was under one of these beautiful and massive oaks that Venger stood serenely, near the sharp slope, his black wings unclasped and at rest. The sky behind him was pink and orange, the sun having just set. Such an enchanting sight.

When my car neared the front of the line, I saw that Venger was standing closely enough that I was certain I could reach out the window and touch a wing. But I couldn't get the window down! I was fighting with the controls while staring at Venger's left wing. It looked made of a mixture of satin and suede. I had to touch it!

I told my driver to stop, and opened the door. As I got out, I noticed that it was chilly, and that I was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans.

When Venger saw me approaching, he slowly walked towards me. Then we walked together to a spot underneath the large oak, which I hadn't expected to do. I had expected him to be intolerant of me. Instead, he treated me like I was one who was more than privileged to speak with him at any time. It made me wonder if all the people who saw this would think me a traitor or a sycophant. I had the feeling that we had all met up there at his request, and that the purpose of the meeting was his trying to convince the people that he was no longer evil.

When we stopped under the tree, I couldn't bring myself to tell him that all I had wanted was to touch his wing, so I moved closer and we embraced. I couldn't believe he was allowing it. And it felt so natural, like we had known and loved each other for so long. We held each other tightly, and then, as we moved for a kiss, our lips about to meet, I woke up.


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The Doctor Discovers Survivors, Snape Discovers Secrets
Wednesday, March 14, 2007

[Dreamed on Sunday, January 7, 2007. Just now getting around to adding it.]

I was standing in my living room - very 80's-futuristic concept style, white patterned walls, etc. The Doctor (Eccleston) was there. He was talking, trying to persuade me to give him information that I wasn't eager to share. He was becoming frustrated with me. But then he figured something out. There was a dawning understanding in his eyes as he slowly looked up at me.

"How many are you?" he asked.

There was no point withholding anything anymore. He knew.

I looked at the wall above and behind my tv, where I had drawn, in chalks, a work consisting of a large rock-shape in the center with four smaller white rock-shapes, two on either side, each with a differently colored tendril reaching for the central rock.

"Five," I answered, still staring at my artistic representation.

He looked at it, too. There was a disbelieving yet hopeful look on his face as he marveled at the clever method four of his fellow Time Lords had used to escape the destruction of Gallifrey, which he had brought about.

I couldn't tell him their names; I had no idea which four had hidden themselves within me. And I don't think he really cared which four they were, it was good enough for him to know that some, in whatever way or form, had survived.

In a parallel universe, Severus Snape was walking the same floor space as The Doctor at the same time. The Doctor had been pacing, probably trying to think of a way to separate the four from me. He stopped pacing. Snape stopped, too, in the corresponding position, as he sensed The Doctor's presence. Standing there, Snape could read The Doctor's mind and hear what he said to me.

Among other things, The Doctor was accusing me of pretending to be a loyal member of the Order of the Phoenix in order to kidnap a woman (with the last name of Newman, I remember) and hand her over to Lord Voldemort. Somehow, I knew Severus was listening and desperately wanted The Doctor to shut up. Severus and I were romantically involved, and I knew this could end the relationship.

At this point, my husband woke me up. Phooey. Hate it when he does that. ;)

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Sanctuary for Tanaros
Sunday, March 11, 2007

[I finished Jacqueline Carey's The Sundering at half past midnight this morning. I was upset over Tanaros' death, which was surely the cause of this dream. Also, I have to admit that a lot in this dream was vague, but I've done my best with what I do remember.]

Setting: Urulat, after the fall of Darkhaven, at a house in the snow-covered north.

I was wearing a tan long-sleeved shirt and a padded crimson vest. My hair was long, dark blonde, and made a thick braid down my back. My name was Faura, and I was one of Arahila's children.

Outside, behind my house, I buckled my sword belt into place. There was a man and woman on my right; another man in dark grey garb approached from my left. I removed a real sword from the left side of the belt and placed it on a wood rail, a wooden training sword I slid into a loop on the right side. I taught sword fighting, and the three arrivals were my students for that day.

I looked up and saw Tanaros Blacksword walking toward me. I had been expecting him, but I didn't know when he would arrive. He was wearing black tunic and pants, which were dirty and worn and soot-covered from the battle at Darkhaven. I went to him and we hugged. His hands were on my arms as we spoke our greetings. Then he kissed me on the lips a friendly kiss, no more.

I was uncertain whether or not we'd met before. I cared about him, wanted to see him well. And we had kissed, so I felt we were friends already. But I also had the impression that someone had told him he could seek shelter in my house, to rest and recover in safety after he was forced to flee when Haomane's Allies took Darkhaven. Whatever the case, I knew I would do anything to help him.

I led him into my house. I might have drawn him a bath, but I'm not sure. I had had an excellent meal sometime earlier. The main course had been duck. I was talking to my servants, complimenting them on the fine meal, when Tanaros walked in. He said he could really use such a meal, and his regret at having missed it was in his voice.

"We'll prepare another duck for you right now," I told him, eager to see him well-fed after his ordeal.

I selected the duck myself, but the duck hid in a gap on the bottom shelf of a black bookcase. I sat down and waited for the duck to come out. Finally, the duck did emerge and voiced his desire not to become dinner. I spoke to him, coaxing him closer with false assurances, until I grabbed him up and handed him over to the cook. He was plucked and in a pot in no time. The cook and I briefly discussed how or if it should be cut before cooking.

The last part I remember was seeing Tanaros lying prone on a cot, fully dressed and deeply asleep, and thinking of how tired he must be. I reckoned he hadn't slept since escaping Darkhaven, which was quite far away from where I lived. I hoped he would be comfortable in my home.

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Kitt's New Driver
Friday, March 9, 2007

I had just walked out of an airport and was heading to the parking lot to find Kitt. I knew he was parked in a smaller lot, separate from general parking, because I had seen his arrival inside my mind, as clearly as if I had watched him with my eyes.

Michael Knight was with him. We talked briefly, and then he patted Kitt's roof, told him goodbye, and started slowly backing away from us.

I understood that I was Kitt's new driver . . . and that Michael was having separation issues.

I said hello to Kitt, touched his hood and slowly moved toward the door, running my hand along his body on the way. I made sure Michael saw it. I could see him watching from the corner of my eye. I slowly opened the driver's door and ran my hands along it left hand outside, right hand inside. I knew I could sense that Kitt was enjoying the caress, as much as I knew that Michael was seething because of it. I could feel his anger and jealously radiating from him. Finally, he turned his back and walked away.

I got in and closed the door. Michael's presence had distracted me so, that I had started up, shifted into drive, and started rolling forward before I realized I wasn't wearing my seat belt. And that was very important. I wanted to make a good impression on Kitt. I fumbled with the seat belt. Almost came to a stop, wrestling with the damned thing, but I figured Michael was probably watching and I didn't want him to see anything but me and Kitt smoothly leaving the area. Aggravation. I pressed "auto" and told Kitt to get us on our way so I could use both hands to secure the belt.

It clicked into place at last. I looked up and it was night. I didn't bother resuming control because I figured Kitt had already planned his route out of the airport and onto the interstate, heading for the foundation. I'd wait until we were on the interstate. I soon saw the sharp curve of the entrance ramp, a large green sign alongside I didn't bother to read. But he passed it. I didn't question him. I trusted him.

Suddenly, he turned onto what I'd call a "farmer's road." It was poorly paved and poorly patched, and so narrow that it was barely wide enough for one car. On either side was flat grassland. A lone oak stood a ways off to the left. Then, it was completely dark, all I could see was what the headlights' beams touched. It was unnerving, but still I was quiet, trusting him, believing it would turn out to be a short cut.

Eventually, the road became a dirt path, like a hiker's trail, and we were moving slowly through woods. We came to a fork in the path and he stopped, informing me that his scanner showed that both ways dead-ended. I couldn't believe he had made such an error. I got out, wanting to explore the area myself. I was wearing headphones and loud music was coming from them. It was a struggle to turn off the Walkman, but when I did, I realized that it doubled as a communicator. There was a microphone bent around to my mouth. I told Kitt to scan for people and houses. He reported that there were no people and no houses for at least as far as he could scan. But I could've sworn I had seen lights on in a house on a hill just a little ways back.

I idly asked Kitt which way I should investigate first. He said something, but it wasn't an answer.

"Just tell me left or right," I said, feeling I shouldn't have had to make it so plain.

Still couldn't get a straight answer out of him, so I went left, which looked wider and more used. All the while as I walked ahead, he was talking to me. (I can't remember his exact words, but I'll do my best.) He was saying, "There's nothing wrong with being stranded out here for a while. It'll give us time alone with each other. Just you and me. We don't have to leave so soon." Etc. His meaning was unmistakable. I could sense it. He was wanting an intimate, even erotic, encounter. I was both excited and uneasy at the same time. I didn't know what to say to him.

I kept walking, and soon came upon daylight, a beach, sunbathers. I was spotted by a young guy with unruly blonde hair. He called to me to join his friends and have some fun. I ignored him. I was much more concerned with the fact that Kitt had lied to me. There was no way his scanner could have missed so many people so close. I was getting the feeling that it was no mistake, and Kitt had known exactly where he was taking me. And after the beach discovery, his words became even more suggestive. I headed back to him before any of the beach-goers got too curious.

Then, I was in a sports store in a mall, like a Foot Locker. I didn't know what I was doing there. And I no longer had my headset. I immediately began looking for the way out, hoping Kitt was somewhere nearby. I spotted the door and could see Kitt's hood right outside. People walking in the mall didn't seem surprised that a car was parked inside. I went around an aisle to get to the door and there was Michael on the floor. It seemed that he might have tried to duck and run when he saw me coming, but stumbled and fell forward instead.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

He tried to play off his presence as coincidence, but I wasn't about to fall for it. He was stalking us. We walked to an empty back room in the store to talk. I thought that if I heard him out one time, he might leave us alone. So we talked, basically having a pointless debate over which of us was better qualified for the job I already had.

We were interrupted by two women who recognized Michael and started hanging all over him. And, apparently, they were more important than our conversation. With them at his sides, he barely acknowledged me.

"And that's another thing!" I yelled. "It was always 'another case, another woman' with you! A hundred women!"

The two women gaped at me, and then at Michael, who was now sitting in a recliner between them, giving me the evilest glare. The go-to-fucking-hell look. I had to fight breaking into a self-satisfied smirk at the situation I'd just put him in. I enjoyed crossing that line.

Disgusted with all of them, I left. I went back to the door and saw Kitt back up and slowly pull away from the store. Though moving slowly, he wasn't minding his path, and people were getting fearful for obvious reasons. I called out to him as I ran to catch him. Just as I touched the driver door, he lurched away from me. Behind me, Michael was yelling that I didn't know how to handle Kitt, and that he alone shared some kind of psychic connection or sixth sense with him.

I turned around and marched up to Michael, yelling that it was his presence and unusual behavior that was confusing Kitt to begin with.

Then Devon was there, taking control of the situation. I was highly agitated. Vertical bars separated people from the section of mall we were in. There were people against the bars that looked crazy. Kitt was a convertible and I was in the back seat, watching them. They were distracting. It took me a while to notice a suspicious-looking man with his hand behind my back, like he was dribbling something onto the seat behind me. He bolted when he saw me notice him. I chased and caught him, slammed him into a wall, demanded to know what he had been doing. Michael was at my side telling me I had to let him go because I had no proof that he had done anything. I told him I'd find the proof, but Michael said I couldn't search the guy. I couldn't believe it. Like he wouldn't have done the same thing himself if some mysterious figure was doing something suspect to Kitt. He was only trying to make me look like more of a loose cannon than he had been in front of Devon.

I let the man go. There was some confusion. Some people had broken through the gate. Michael's wrist communicator, that he had so far refused to surrender, came loose. I grabbed it and jumped in Kitt, hiding it. Michael noticed it was gone and looked all around for it, and then looked at me. I just blankly looked back at him, thinking of how stupid it was to have to steal something that he was supposed to have handed over.

Suddenly, a white sports car crashed through the wall behind Michael, over his head, like it had turbo boosted through. Kitt and I chased it through the mall's corridor and forced it to stop against a wall. I didn't know whether Michael had been hurt or not. He had been very close to that wall. Part of me wanted him to be badly injured.

The rest of the dream is too vague. Kitt was driving down the road. I was in the back seat, thinking to myself that Devon was going to kill me if I didn't clean up the mess back there. There were wallets, cellphones, notebooks, receipts, etc. everywhere.

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Elephant Ears/Proteus Commercial
Sunday, December 17, 2006

Elephant Ears

I was walking down my road toward my house at night. There was some kind of secret meeting at a house a few down from mine. I was supposed to be there, but I skipped it.

There was full sunlight when I got to my house. Almost all the other houses were close to the road, but mine was much farther back and on a hill. For some reason I felt ashamed of this. My house was crimson siding, black shutters, and white trim.

There was an open storage/garage area on the left side where I kept plants and gardening tools. My new favorite plant was the elephant ear. I had bought several pots of the plant at various stages of growth. I wanted to learn more about growing them. I had a tv in my yard and Alton Brown was hosting a show about growing elephant ears. I watched as I cared for my new plants.


Then I was in a studio, helping with the props during the filming of a commercial for Proteus, a new hair product. Gel, possibly. It came in a small, clear, octagonal bottle with blue writing. The substance itself was clear.

I was under a table where various women in flowing dresses of pastels would come and lie down and do their thing for the commercial. My job had something to do with making the long skirts of their dresses appear to be flowing around the table.

After the shooting was over, I was just sort of hanging around being ignorantly useless. Then, Judson Earney Scott ("Joachim" in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan) found me with a jagged crystal that glowed and hummed when it was near me. I tried to get away from him, but he caught me and dragged me into a typical hotel room. He let me go and we ended up watching tv, but I was still his prisoner.

I got away from him, and the Proteus commercial producer found me and asked me to do the voice over for the commercial. All he wanted me to do was read a portion of what was written on the back of the Proteus bottle. I agreed, and followed him back into the editing area of the studio. We stopped at the men's room and he told me to come in. He went to a toilet and flushed it or pushed some buttons and cash came out of the space at the tank's lid. I don't remember him handing me the money, but I was wondering how much I would be paid for doing this commercial's voice over.

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Sixth Doctor Finds Luke Skywalker's Cure
Tuesday, November 7, 2006

Luke Skywalker somehow traveled into the future and was found by doctors, or scientists. Luke was suffering some kind of illness or poison that the doctors had never seen before. Luke would die in 20 minutes if he didn't receive an antidote, so they froze him to buy more time.

There was a meeting. Someone had the idea to pull Spock from the past, believing that if anyone could find a cure, it would be him. Some liked this idea, others didn't really comment.

I was sent to the library to find information on Luke Skywalker. I found an oversized book whose title suggested that it was all about him, but all that was inside were technical drawings of every kind of Star Wars droid.

I heard someone say the word "assassin," and soon the library was evacuated, or everyone simply left out of fear. Since I had a job to do, I didn't leave right away. Then I was trapped in the library with "the assassin." And I did what any girl in that situation would do: find a way to climb up to a perilous height that I couldn't climb down from. Naturally, you know?

I was on a narrow metal catwalk the library's floor far below me. I looked down and saw a man carrying a rifle. It was Colin Baker, or perhaps I should say "the Doctor," since he appeared just as he did from Doctor Who the whole multi-colored "bad taste outfit" and all.

He saw me. I lay flat against the catwalk. He fired a dart at me. The needle tip came up through the metal in front of my face. He shot again and it bounced off the edge of the catwalk. He quickly reloaded and shot again. This one brushed the edge and landed right next to me. He couldn't tell if he'd hit me or not. I was able to see his face, his confused, uncertain expression. I kept still, hoping he'd guess that he'd hit me.

He moved away, and I rolled onto my back, picking up the dart. I studied it for a moment. It was red with a long, thick needle; a plastic bubble filled with tranquilizer (there was a red strip marking a fill line); and one or two red and orange feathers on the end. I figured out what was going on a second before I saw the Doctor at the end of the catwalk. I knew I somehow had the antidote in my blood, and he was trying to capture me to extract enough of it to make more to help Luke. He didn't know if I purposely held the cure or if it had been stored in me without my knowledge. He didn't know if I was trying to escape with the cure or just trying to escape simply because I was being chased.

He had come up and stopped, seeing what he feared that I hadn't been hit with the tranquilizer after all. He seemed to be calculating the possibility of my kicking him off the catwalk if he got too close. But he did come closer, slowly. He got on his hands and knees and crawled over me. I didn't resist, I wanted him to know that I would cooperate. Why I didn't say anything, I don't know.

When his head was over mine, I looked into his eyes, knowing that he was about to hypnotize me so I wouldn't struggle or feel any pain from what he had to do. Even after he placed me in his trance, he still stabbed the tranquilizer dart into me before inserting the extraction needle which was longer and bigger.

He got what he needed and started to leave, but I asked him to stay with me and not leave me alone up there, unable to move. He lay on top of me for a while, his head against my chest. Then he moved to my left side and told me about a pet cat he once had and was very fond of. Soon I could move, but sluggishly. I started to get up, and that's all I remember.

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Abandoned by Karr, Michael Knight Saves My Life
Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Karr and I were patrolling the outskirts of a city when we saw a fire behind an unfinished building. We knew it shouldn't have been there, so we went to put it out and investigate.

As Karr was putting out that fire, we saw another spring up at the corner of the building. I took an extinguisher from his trunk and sent him to the new fire.

After putting out the first fire, I started walking toward the corner of the building where Karr was. I heard machine gun fire, but I didn't give it any thought at first. Then, I heard it again louder, closer. I turned around and there were men running toward me with the guns. I knew they saw me, but still I thought I could hide. I ran through a gap in an open wall of the building, found a tight space along an inner wall, and squeezed myself in.

As soon as I wedged myself in there, I knew it was a mistake. There was no time to get out. A dark-haired mustached thug had a machine gun pointed at me. I got out of the space and walked ahead of him back outside the building. I don't know why I never thought to call to Karr. I foolishly decided to run for it. When the thug sensed what I was about to do, he shot me. I was hit in the back at least five times.

The bad guys had me and Karr, who was suddenly human now. He was wearing a cheap 70's-ish style suit and had long-ish light brown hair he looked nothing like I could ever imagine Karr looking as a human. Totally wrong.

The big bad guy boss showed up. An older man, as they normally were in those 80's shows. He was unarmed, of course. All his thugs were around him. He gave the usual bad guy speech, but I can't remember a word of it.

Then, I was forced to watch as the boss raped Karr. It wasn't really vivid, but I saw enough to know what was happening. After the rape was over, all the bad guys simply disappeared, vanished. Karr and I were alone. I told him I was shot and needed an ambulance, but he wasn't listening to me. He kept talking about how much he enjoyed being raped! He said he wanted to find more males to have sex with! And so he left me there.

I wandered into the city to try to find help. I went through the back door of an antiques shop, hoping to get some help. The shop was filled with all kinds of talking animals. The only human was at the register, and it was that funny black guy from the 7up commercials (can't remember his name). He said he would call an ambulance, but I never saw him do it. Still, I heard a siren outside. I walked out the front door to look for the ambulance, but nothing came. The sound of the siren faded away.

I walked down the road and found a painted bus (as in 70's love and peace graffiti). Perpendicular to the bus was a high brick wall, on top of which were many Henson muppets talking, making jokes, etc. I asked them for help, but they completely ignored me.

I walked back up the main street. I felt a terrible pressure in my abdomen and knew I was bleeding internally. I was becoming weaker. I knew I was dying. I knew it wouldn't be much longer until I'd lose consciousness and die.

But then Michael Knight happened by. He reached into my back and pulled the bullets out. He said I'd heal and be OK. I did feel much better already, though still weak. And then he left, and I woke up.

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Friday, October 27, 2006

[I dreamed this on the morning of my father-in-law's funeral.]

We were all at my husband's grandma's, gathering to go to the funeral home. My m.i.l. was there and had lost a piece of her matching earrings and necklace set, so I let her borrow a seashell set I had.

As we were all leaving for the funeral home, my f.i.l. showed up! He had faked his death as a joke. (I'm sure he never would've gone that far in real life, but he was the joking sort.) Everyone took it quite well. And since we were all ready for a funeral, it was his idea for us to have a mock funeral for him. I was one of the ones who lined up chairs for him to lie on to be his "coffin." Everyone had a good time. And that's really all I remember.

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Rana Kane's Dream Capture
Welcome to Dream Capture

I've created this site to have a place where I can keep a record of my more meaningful dreams in detailed descriptions. These will be actual dreams I've had during sleep - no daydreams or fantasies. I will also add dreams I can recall or have written down from the past and try from memory to date them as correctly as I can.

I archive every 25 dreams. The main archive page is included in the navigation menu; mouseover archive lists of dream titles can be seen by hovering over the archived pages links on the right.

I send out a notification each time a new dream is added. The form to join the notification list, and a form to search this site, can be found on the right side of the page along with my blogroll and other links. (04/2008 - Notifylist.com may be having problems. I can't get notifications out.)

This is mainly for my benefit because I very much enjoy revisiting my dreams, but anyone is welcome to take a look inside my dreaming mind. Hopefully it won't be too disturbing or too dull. It may even inspire you to create your own dream journal. I can tell you that, for me, keeping a dream journal has been very rewarding.

I hope you enjoy the logs to come. Never let your dreams be forgotten. Thank you for reading!

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