Dream Thread

I had a dream someone who isn't supposed to commited suicide. I woke up in a panic thinking I wasn't paying attention to the warning signs, but the fact I'm harping on sarcasm at the mo comforts me oddly.
 
I'm only posting this because it's a dream involving Morrissey, which I've never had before (I guess the dream must have been induced by me joining this site?).

So, it starts out at a sort of tiki bar setting and all these adults are in a line in front of Morrissey, who is singing. I find that I'm also in the line myself, and start freaking out, because I do NOT want to be sang to by Morrissey (that would be uncomfortable). So I keep trying to get out of line, but people keep pushing me back in. Eventually, it comes my turn and (thankfully) Morrissey's time for singing to people is up and he has to leave. But as he's leaving, he invites about 6 people (including me) to follow him, so I accept his invitation, and we all get on bicycles and start riding up these giant hills adorned with several large trees and expensive mansions...

Eventually on our bike ride, we come to this sea side town (HA HA) and one of the girls with us sees her mother (whom she hasn't seen to in years) on a patio at a cafe. The girl runs over to the cafe to try and say hello to her mother, but finds that she is unresponsive. It turns out, her mother is deaf and blind. Morrissey and I become aware of this fact and goes over to the cafe to try to and help the girl communicate. Morrissey starts singing directly in the mothers ear and apparently, she is able to hear the vibrations of it or something, so she starts crying and saying "I've missed you!!!" in her deaf-girl voice, and starts hugging her daughter..... and the rest is a blur..... except for the fact that in the end I know we all turned into characters from Arthur (except for Morrissey)somehow and I was Muffy! :squiffy:
 
Last night I had a dream I took a two hour flight from America to England. I've never been to England before so I was really excited, I was going on a business trip for the company I worked for. I was met by Peter/Uncleskinny and a woman I didn't know and we took a van to a cafe that had oversized chairs in primary colors, red, yellow, blue. Peter seemed distracted like he had other stuff to do but he wanted to show me England so we drove around and he showed me all the different hills that were made out of salt. Every hill in England was a salt hill. Then I was concerned I didn't touch base with MORRIZSEY who I knew lived in England, but I was told it was time for me to go back to America because Morrissey was there. THere was some other stuff I can't remember.

:D
 
I think I've told this here before, but if I have it wasn't on this thread.

So.. I'm alone in the bowels of a sinking ocean liner. It's very opulent, proper White Star Line sort of thing, but listing alarmingly. I run up a staircase to the next level, and at the bottom of the next set of stairs is very large, leather three seater Chesterfield style sofa. (At this point I would like to mention that I've recently discovered the original spelling of 'sofa' is 'sopha', which I much prefer. I digress.)

As I leap onto the bottom step the sopha shouts "Help me you worthless piece of shit!", and I turn around to see a large mouth where the back meets the cushions. I tell it I can't, but it continues berating me in the most aggressive manner imaginable. I decide to try and pull this huge bloody thing up the stairs, with the ship creaking and groaning around me.

As I pull it to the bottom of the next flight of stairs I can first hear and then see the water rapidly catching us up. I tell the sopha I am going to have to leave it behind. "You f***ing bastard! You have to help me!" Knowing that I have little choice I start to drag it up the stairs but by now we are both soaked and the water is only a foot or two from the bottom of the sopha. My hands are wet and my grip is slipping on the leather loudmouth. All the time I am being berated by this obnoxious piece of furniture. I try again, but my grip loosens. I jump down to grab it but it slips beneath the water. "YOU BASTARRRRRD..." it yells as it disappears. I turn and run, eventually reaching the deck, a lifeboat and safety.

Oh, I missed a bit out which might explain the central motif of this very strange scenario. The sopha had my brother's voice. At the time my brother was unemployed and seemingly enjoying the lifestyle very much and was into me for about a hundred quid a week, and never a single word of thanks.

Another time... How David Bowie wanted to buy my house, but forced me to choose between a very, very good price and blowing up my mother with a hand grenade.
 
I think I've told this here before, but if I have it wasn't on this thread.

So.. I'm alone in the bowels of a sinking ocean liner. It's very opulent, proper White Star Line sort of thing, but listing alarmingly. I run up a staircase to the next level, and at the bottom of the next set of stairs is very large, leather three seater Chesterfield style sofa. (At this point I would like to mention that I've recently discovered the original spelling of 'sofa' is 'sopha', which I much prefer. I digress.)

As I leap onto the bottom step the sopha shouts "Help me you worthless piece of shit!", and I turn around to see a large mouth where the back meets the cushions. I tell it I can't, but it continues berating me in the most aggressive manner imaginable. I decide to try and pull this huge bloody thing up the stairs, with the ship creaking and groaning around me.

As I pull it to the bottom of the next flight of stairs I can first hear and then see the water rapidly catching us up. I tell the sopha I am going to have to leave it behind. "You f***ing bastard! You have to help me!" Knowing that I have little choice I start to drag it up the stairs but by now we are both soaked and the water is only a foot or two from the bottom of the sopha. My hands are wet and my grip is slipping on the leather loudmouth. All the time I am being berated by this obnoxious piece of furniture. I try again, but my grip loosens. I jump down to grab it but it slips beneath the water. "YOU BASTARRRRRD..." it yells as it disappears. I turn and run, eventually reaching the deck, a lifeboat and safety.

Oh, I missed a bit out which might explain the central motif of this very strange scenario. The sopha had my brother's voice. At the time my brother was unemployed and seemingly enjoying the lifestyle very much and was into me for about a hundred quid a week, and never a single word of thanks.

Another time... How David Bowie wanted to buy my house, but forced me to choose between a very, very good price and blowing up my mother with a hand grenade.

Leather Loudmouth is my new stripper name. :sweet:
 
I think I've told this here before, but if I have it wasn't on this thread.

So.. I'm alone in the bowels of a sinking ocean liner. It's very opulent, proper White Star Line sort of thing, but listing alarmingly. I run up a staircase to the next level, and at the bottom of the next set of stairs is very large, leather three seater Chesterfield style sofa. (At this point I would like to mention that I've recently discovered the original spelling of 'sofa' is 'sopha', which I much prefer. I digress.)

As I leap onto the bottom step the sopha shouts "Help me you worthless piece of shit!", and I turn around to see a large mouth where the back meets the cushions. I tell it I can't, but it continues berating me in the most aggressive manner imaginable. I decide to try and pull this huge bloody thing up the stairs, with the ship creaking and groaning around me.

As I pull it to the bottom of the next flight of stairs I can first hear and then see the water rapidly catching us up. I tell the sopha I am going to have to leave it behind. "You f***ing bastard! You have to help me!" Knowing that I have little choice I start to drag it up the stairs but by now we are both soaked and the water is only a foot or two from the bottom of the sopha. My hands are wet and my grip is slipping on the leather loudmouth. All the time I am being berated by this obnoxious piece of furniture. I try again, but my grip loosens. I jump down to grab it but it slips beneath the water. "YOU BASTARRRRRD..." it yells as it disappears. I turn and run, eventually reaching the deck, a lifeboat and safety.

Oh, I missed a bit out which might explain the central motif of this very strange scenario. The sopha had my brother's voice. At the time my brother was unemployed and seemingly enjoying the lifestyle very much and was into me for about a hundred quid a week, and never a single word of thanks.

Another time... How David Bowie wanted to buy my house, but forced me to choose between a very, very good price and blowing up my mother with a hand grenade.


This is what happens when you read Moby Dick before bedtime. :D
 
The doorbell rings, at my quite unremarkable three bedroomed home. I get up to answer, and I notice I have an artificial leg - a prosthetic below the left knee. For some reason this does not bother me, nor does it play any further part in my tale. Or does it?

I answer the door and it is David Bowie circa Station To Station. I am circa ten years ago, which is when this dream occurred. He offers to buy my house for cash and for significantly more than its value. I agree and he hands me half the money in a suitcase, but adds that as he is going to his Caribbean hideaway for six weeks and that there are certain alterations that need to be made before he and Imam can move in. He hands me the plans and asks me to employ builders and ensure everything is finished in time for his return. He is adamant this must be completed or the deal is off.

I employ the builders but the work is slow. In at half ten, lunch at twelve, back for two and off for the day at four. You know, like builders. The days turn into weeks with no progress, and I am increasingly desperate. For some reason I don't sack them. The day Bowie is due to return, and bear in mind this is one seamless dreamscape, I hear a car pull up, and footsteps on the path. Expecting the Thin White Duke I open the door, but it's my Mum.

She comes in and heads for the kitchen to make a cup of tea, where the builders are sitting around playing poker, and she closes the door behind her. As soon as she does the doorbell rings once more, and this time it is Bowie. He's furious at the lack of progress and tells me there is only one way to keep the deal alive, and reaches into his pocket for a hand grenade, instructing me to kill the builders sat laughing and joking loudly in the kitchen. I don't like to mention my Mum is in there, as it seems a bit rude and I approach the door, open it slightly, pull out the pin, and the dream ends.

Apparently impending death in dreams is not, as is often believed, indicated by losing teeth, but by dreaming of a lost limb. This dream was ten years ago, and predated a house fire by about a week. The night before the fire I had a different dream. A real sit bolt upright covered in sweat dream. I was asleep alone in my double bed. I felt that there were people in the room, but daren't open my eyes. Eventually I pluck up enough courage and see that there are perhaps thirty people stood around my bed, taking up every inch of floor space in the room, and stood shoulder to shoulder, and packed in like a rush hour tube train. They are all looking down at me, but I cannot make out any faces. I wake up in a cold sweat.

The next day, in the real wide awake world, my Mum rang and I told her of this latter dream and how it had left me with a feeling of dread and impending danger, to the degree that I wondered if I would be around much longer. Within twelve hours of that call my then girlfriend's house caught fire with us in it. 4am, a couple of bottles of red and a gramme or two, and woken by the smoke detector. "Rach, turn the alarm off... I'm not going in to work. i'm too f***ed... Rach... Rachel... Turn the bloody alarm off." Followed by a sudden realisation that that wasn't the alarm clock.

I had one small injury in the fire. A nasty burn. To my left leg. I still have the scar.

Moral of the story: David Bowie should employ his own damn builders, and if you don't have smoke alarms, bloody well get them. Tomorrow. They might well save your life.
 
The doorbell rings, at my quite unremarkable three bedroomed home. I get up to answer, and I notice I have an artificial leg - a prosthetic below the left knee. For some reason this does not bother me, nor does it play any further part in my tale. Or does it?

I answer the door and it is David Bowie circa Station To Station. I am circa ten years ago, which is when this dream occurred. He offers to buy my house for cash and for significantly more than its value. I agree and he hands me half the money in a suitcase, but adds that as he is going to his Caribbean hideaway for six weeks and that there are certain alterations that need to be made before he and Imam can move in. He hands me the plans and asks me to employ builders and ensure everything is finished in time for his return. He is adamant this must be completed or the deal is off.

I employ the builders but the work is slow. In at half ten, lunch at twelve, back for two and off for the day at four. You know, like builders. The days turn into weeks with no progress, and I am increasingly desperate. For some reason I don't sack them. The day Bowie is due to return, and bear in mind this is one seamless dreamscape, I hear a car pull up, and footsteps on the path. Expecting the Thin White Duke I open the door, but it's my Mum.

She comes in and heads for the kitchen to make a cup of tea, where the builders are sitting around playing poker, and she closes the door behind her. As soon as she does the doorbell rings once more, and this time it is Bowie. He's furious at the lack of progress and tells me there is only one way to keep the deal alive, and reaches into his pocket for a hand grenade, instructing me to kill the builders sat laughing and joking loudly in the kitchen. I don't like to mention my Mum is in there, as it seems a bit rude and I approach the door, open it slightly, pull out the pin, and the dream ends.

Apparently impending death in dreams is not, as is often believed, indicated by losing teeth, but by dreaming of a lost limb. This dream was ten years ago, and predated a house fire by about a week. The night before the fire I had a different dream. A real sit bolt upright covered in sweat dream. I was asleep alone in my double bed. I felt that there were people in the room, but daren't open my eyes. Eventually I pluck up enough courage and see that there are perhaps thirty people stood around my bed, taking up every inch of floor space in the room, and stood shoulder to shoulder, and packed in like a rush hour tube train. They are all looking down at me, but I cannot make out any faces. I wake up in a cold sweat.

The next day, in the real wide awake world, my Mum rang and I told her of this latter dream and how it had left me with a feeling of dread and impending danger, to the degree that I wondered if I would be around much longer. Within twelve hours of that call my then girlfriend's house caught fire with us in it. 4am, a couple of bottles of red and a gramme or two, and woken by the smoke detector. "Rach, turn the alarm off... I'm not going in to work. i'm too f***ed... Rach... Rachel... Turn the bloody alarm off." Followed by a sudden realisation that that wasn't the alarm clock.

I had one small injury in the fire. A nasty burn. To my left leg. I still have the scar.

Moral of the story: David Bowie should employ his own damn builders, and if you don't have smoke alarms, bloody well get them. Tomorrow. They might well save your life.

It's also a good idea to change the batteries regularly, like every Christmas or on your birthday, some of them don't beep when the batteries are low.
 
Being stalked by a skinhead whilst I was working at a playground. I think he wanted to kill me.
 
I had a dream a little girl was walking slowly across a five-lane freeway. There were only semi-trucks and they were driving fast without a care that the girl was walking there. I screamed STOP YOU'LL HIT HER! STOP!!!!! and I woke up in a rush. It was a panicky experience, I guess not technically a dream but a nightmare.
 
i was getting pizza at a shitty suburban...arcade or bowling alley, i can't remember. i think i was on a date with someone who wasn't my partner (i wasn't single in the dream, i was cheating) when we saw M and a group of 4 or 5 sycophants all sucking up to him. he stopped at our table and shook my hand and asked if i had read the autobiography. i told him it was coming in the post, but i was looking forward to it. i left the arcade impressed with the firmness and strength of the man's handshake...

- - - Updated - - -

Another time... How David Bowie wanted to buy my house, but forced me to choose between a very, very good price and blowing up my mother with a hand grenade.

all of my bowie dreams have been sex dreams. all two of them.
 
I had a very strange dream last night. I really can't remember it all, but for some reason everyone was speaking French and I completely understood every word. I don't speak French fluently. What I do remember is that I was out in an open market of sorts. I had bought a bunch of flowers and I was carrying them around. I remember thinking that I should have purchased them as I was leaving (in French)

What's that all about, I wonder?
 
Last I dreamt that I had to go to my ex hubbys place to pick up some things. I went into the house and said “hello, I’m here”. Then I called again and finally he came out of the bedroom wearing lacy panties and a see-thru robe with feathers on the trim and a curly blond wig. He said “Hold on a minute” and walked back into the room to change into guy clothes and came back out like no big deal. I just stood there with my mouth agape.
Then I woke up.
 


I had a dream, I had an awesome dream
 
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I had a dream the reason was he had to shit. :cool:
 
You know the old lady from Titanic? I had a nightmare that she was on top of me trying to French kiss me. I kept trying to push her off but she had this super strength and I couldn’t get away. . I FINALLY pushed her off and she said “don’t you like me”! Isn’t that weird?
 
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